Peace
by Cheryl W
Summary: Wracked by guilt and despair over Huck Finn's death, Tom shuts the world out and it seems only Allan can break down the young man's barriers and help him to find some peace.father son relationship only
1. Chapter 1

Peace

By: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I don't own The League of the Extraordinary Gentlemen or anything in conjunction with LXG nor am I making a profit from this story. No copyright infringement is intended. Sadly, I do not own Tom Sawyer either.

Author's Note: This story picks up immediately after the "shooting lesson" scene in the LXG movie. This is a subplot that supposedly fits into the movie's timeframe. However, the movie's timeframe moves along as quick as the Nautilus so I apologize if it seems too much happens too quickly...I worked with the three days they gave me when they traveled from Paris to Venice. FYI: Later chapters may venture into AU. This is my first attempt at LXG writing so I would love to hear some feedback!

Hearing the hatch door firmly shut behind him, announcing the adventurer's abrupt departure, Tom, sighing, leaned against Allan Quatermain's gun. His insensitive question ran through his head 'Did you teach your son to shoot like this?' 'You idiot! And I told Huck "he" had no tact,' he rebuked as his eyes gazed at the ocean. Suddenly all light died in his eyes and he brokenly whispered, "Huck".

Clenching his jaw against the emotions he dared not unleash, Sawyer gripped tightly to the gun barrel. 'I miss you, Huck. Why'd you have to leave me?!' Unbidden the memory of his friend dying in his arms came crashing into his thoughts. Immediately he called out "Chilao" signaling Nemo's sailor to release another target. Standing still as granite, he tracked the ball as it sailed through the air. Then as the ball arched toward the water, Tom, with the speed of a cheetah, broke his stance, swung the gun up and deftly shot the ball out of the air. The action caused a flash of pain to crease the young man's face but no one was there to take notice. And if Nemo's man saw the spy's trembling right hand nearly drop the gun before his left hand took the brunt of the weight, he did not remark upon it.

Cursing silently, Tom let his right hand, now unburdened by the weight of the rifle, drop to his side. He fought the urge to bring his left hand up to rub his right shoulder in an effort to minimize the agony now stemming from that area of his body. Pain was nothing new to him..even this type of pain. Resolutely, he swore that it would not hinder him in his plan. He would avenge Huck's death...all else be damned.

Turning around, he offered thanks to the sailor before stepping through the hatch. Slinging the rifle over his left shoulder, Sawyer maneuvered down the ladder, grimacing against the strain the action had on his right shoulder. When his feet finally touched the levelness of the deck, he couldn't deny his relief. After yesterday's shootout and the hunt for Hyde, he had sworn to take things a mite easier to reserve some strength for the real battle. In truth he had figured there would be little need for worry that he would not take his own advice. They were in a boat..under water. What trouble could he get into?!

A smirk pulled onto his lips as he recalled Quatermain's surprising invitation, "Would you like to learn how to shoot?" The boy that still thrived in Tom wanted to leap at the offer but the man that he was would not be so readily led. So instead of acceptance he had offered up a cocky reply, knowing even as the words left him that he might well be blowing any chance he had to befriend the man he so admired. To the young spy's relief, the adventurer had bantered back an encouragement and held out his rifle to him, a rifle that Sawyer knew the hunter valued above all things. Quatermain, easily reading the young spy's hesitancy, bade with the one word, "Try." Quatermain's gesture was one of trust and faith...things Tom felt uncomfortable bearing. Maybe that was why he tried to brush off the honor the older man was bestowing on him by hastily grabbing the rifle.

Even with such mean treatment of his rifle, Allan had not revoked his offer. Instead more gentleness entered the older man's eyes as he said, "Easy. Easy," as if he wished to sooth the hurt he sensed in the other man.

If truth were to be told, Tom felt some of the ache in his heart lessen as he met the man's eyes a second before he sighted the gun. When Allan stepped closer to him, his gentle instructions delivered while he unconsciously put a hand upon the young man's shoulder, Tom tensed at the man's closeness. Having never had a father figure in his life, Tom was unprepared for the contentment that flowed over him at having earned even this small attention from Quatermain. Maybe that's why he missed the shot he should have made. Maybe that's why he let his tongue run away with him, prying where he had no place, unconsciously pushing the older man away with the utterance of less than ten words.

Now as he approached Quatermain's room, Tom felt shame color his face. No matter what had come over him, he knew he had no right to pry into Allan's personal memories. A private man himself, Sawyer knew how little he'd appreciate someone shooting questions at him they had no business asking. The thought of facing Quatermain so soon after his stupid actions was not high on Tom's list of pleasurable tasks. Sighing, he steeled himself to meet Quatermain's fiery gaze as he came upon the man's room, only to draw up short at the sight of the open door and empty room. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Tom stalked into the room, reverently laid the gun down upon the bed and fled the room without a second glance. He deserved a tongue lashing from Quatermain but not now...not when he felt like he would rather cut off his right arm than feel the pain the offending limb was causing him.

It was an answer to prayer that he managed to make it to his room without running into another member of the so called league or even one of Nemo's crew. Crossing the room's threshold, he promptly shut the door. His energy spent, he rested his back upon the wooden door. Realizing he no longer needed to maintain a façade, Tom closed his eyes and slid down the door to sit on the floor. Too much had happened. Huck dying, trying to pick up the Fantom's trail, meeting the rare personalities of the league, joining the league. Too much too soon...too much bad not enough good. Not for the first time, he wished he and Huck's fates were switched. Huck was the strong one, everyone knew that. 'So why's he dead and I'm not?!' screamed through his soul. Who had misshuffled the deck?! Who had screwed up the balance he had so fervently believed in?! He wanted a 'do over' like he and Huck always did when they played poker and a hand didn't come out like they thought it should. Given another chance he'd make things right, Huck would not be dead...Huck would be here with the league...he would earn the league's respect...there would be no doubts that Huck would bring down the Fantom. 'Huck wouldn't let me down ...he would avenge my death' the recrimination rattled around in Tom's head, shining a bright light on his gut wrenching fear that he would fail Huck yet again. "It shoulda been me Huck, not you," Tom choked out, unmindful of the tears tracking down his face, "it shoulda been me." Again the memories unmercifully played through his mind.

Three days ago, under the dense fog, two barely discernable figures met on the London dock.

The taller one of the two unconsciously kept his hand upon the Colt .45 nestled at his side, "Tom these docks give me the creeps," Huckleberry Finn confessed to his best friend.

Chuckling, Tom Sawyer taunted, "Who's the scaredy cat now? Thought you bragged a time or two that the only thing that ever was gonna scare you was Injun Joe." His keen eyesight taking in his friend's well hidden blush of shame.

Knowing from past experience that lying to the man who knew him best was a waste of time, Huck gamely tacked on, "Yeah, him and ghosts and Jack the Ripper and this creepy fog."

Enjoying his usually fearless partner's discomfort, Sawyer calmly stated, "We got fog on the Mississippi. I never saw you get scared of it."

Huck's eyes darkened with growing frustration. "I 'know' we got fog on the Mississippi...I'm the one that got run over by that paddle boat in the fog.."

"So you keep insisting but only God knows what's the truth..." Tom interrupted with a smirk, earning him a glare from his friend as his disputes always did.

"It's the truth, you stubborn fool," Finn growled, glad for the welcome distraction of a good argument with his friend.

Sawyer's brow rose in challenge, "The truth? From you?"

Raising a hand to forestall his friend's continuing attack on his good name, Huck steered the conversation back on course, "All I'm saying is this fog here isn't like at home...there's something dark lurking in it's shadow."

Tom couldn't deny his friend's words for he too felt unnerved by this weather in a place so far from home. "Hey, it was your idea to track the Fantom and that trail led here."

Immediately the older secret service agent got a look of seriousness on his face as his eyes bore into Tom, "War starts in Europe.."

"Yeah, I know," Tom sighed exaggeratedly before he repeated Huck's logic with a fair imitation of his friend, " 'How long until it reaches America?'" His recital had both men smirking. Sawyer shook his head in disbelief and admiration. "I can't believe you convinced the President with a line like that."

A smile lit up Huck's face even in such gloomy surroundings. "We got permission to go after the Fantom, didn't we? Regardless of where the hunt took us."

"That "hunt" took us far from home onto this old dock with this creepy fog waiting for the Fantom to make a grand entrance," Tom pointed out, not so much complaining as clarifying.

"I know," Huck admitted, an impish smile turning up his lips. "Ain't our jobs the best?!"

Tom laughed softly, "I'm turning as crazy as you are."

"Turning?" Huck challenged, playfully shoving Tom back a step. "Go back to your post and let's catch this rascal so we can go home."

"Fine but I'm only gonna wait for another 5 or 6 hours for this villain to show himself," Sawyer threatened with a devious smile as he walked backward away from his friend.

"Shame on your poor devotion," Huck called lowly to his departing friend. But when Tom turned around and began striding away, Huck beckoned, "Tom."

Hearing a note in his friend's voice he hadn't heard before, Tom stopped mid stride and turned around to look where he knew his friend stood amid the dense fog.

Huck took a few steps forward so he could clearly see his friend. Firmly he ordered, "You see something signal me...don't go playing hero, Tom," the dread building in his gut bringing out his protective instincts for the younger man.

"Me?" Tom replied, pointing to himself, with a cocky grin. "Play hero? You must have me confused with one of those characters in those adventure books you keep reading." When no mirth lightened Finn's stance, Tom knew his friend's worry for him was sincere. Solemnly Tom gave Huck the promise he was waiting for. "No playing hero...not for me or you. We square on that?"

"We're square," Huck promised back. Immediately some of the tension bled from his stance as he watched his best friend disappear in the fog.

As Tom made his patrol of his designated section of the docks, his nerves came alive with warning. Pulling one of his Colts from it's holster, he hid behind some crates mere seconds before two figures stalked onto the docks' planks.

"Everything must go as planned, is that clear," the cloaked figure growled, causing Sawyer to tighten his grip upon his gun. He had heard that voice before.... in America. The Fantom had finally made his stage call.

Remembering his promise to Huck, Tom held himself in place and prepared to give the bird call signaling to Huck that their quarry was in their sights. Then logic kicked in as he listened to the oppressive silence on the night. Suddenly he knew the bird call would be unnatural on such a dark, foggy night. No self respecting bird would be out of their nests. Changing tactics, he gave their childhood signal. A darn good imitation of a cat's meowing caterwauling.

The sound caused the Fantom and his lackey to turn toward the crates in surprise but neither took a venture to come across the howling feline.

Regaining the thread of the conversation, the Fantom's lackey reassured, "Nothing will go amiss."

'Wrong' Tom silently contradicted with resolve. Though no sound was made, Tom could sense Huck's presence nearby. Pulling his second handgun, Sawyer took a calming breath. Boldly he surged to his feet, surprising both men as he advanced forward, each of his guns sighting upon a man, "You're play's got too many bad reviews, Fantom."

"So we've been asked to close your show down ...for good," Finn announced from his position to the right of Sawyer, a cocky smile upon his face, his shotgun aimed at the Fantom's head.

"Best if you do like they do in all the great western movies and raise your hands..." Tom ordered as he cocked both his guns. "Now."

With a growl of hatred, the Fantom raised his hands. However, the Fantom's henchman, having avowed long ago that he would risk anything to not end up back behind bars, snaked his hand into his coat and withdrew his gun. The weapon never cleared his coat. Sawyer's bullet slammed into his chest, plowing him to the ground.

The next second, Finn was stalking toward the Fantom with malice in his eyes and his shotgun aimed unmistakably at the Fantom's one visible eye. "You try something like that and I'll blow your head off your shoulders," Finn snarled.

Determinedly, Sawyer approached the down man who lay unmoving on the docks, his guns sighted on his quarry. Standing over the man, the secret service agent could detect neither movement, the drawing of breath or the twitching of pain but something in Sawyer's gut was screaming that danger was still lurking in this foggy night. He was about to bend down to further confirm that the lackey was dead when the dead man raised his gun and shot him.

The bullet tore into Sawyer's shoulder, propelling him backwards right off the docks into the water.

Huck watched in horror as the bullet struck his friend, knocking him into the water. Without hesitation, Finn's shotgun roared, his aim assuring that the man who had possibly murdered his best friend would not resurrect again. The Fantom, taking advantage of the split second the shotgun was not sighted upon him, withdrew his knife from inside his waist. Stepping forward, he plunged the knife deep into Huckleberry Finn's stomach.

Surprised agony ripped through Huck. Instinctively, he slammed his shotgun's barrel into the Fantom's head, staggering the villain. Huck resighted his gun on the Fantom and fired only to watch in disappointment as the Fantom ducked and his bullet imbedded into a warehouse wall. Before Huck could track his target's motions, the Fantom disappeared into the fog.

Tom's head broke the surface of the water in time to hear the roar of Huck's shotgun. Desperately, Sawyer reached above his head for the boards of the dock and hoisted himself out of the water as quick as he could with a bullet lodged in his right shoulder. He crawled fully onto the dock in time to see the Fantom escape. Swinging his attention to his friend, whose back was to him, he opened his mouth to order Huck to get after the Fantom, when, to his shock, Huck crumbled to his knees.

"Huck!" Tom cried in alarm as he scampered across the few feet that divided him from his friend. He came up behind Huck in time to catch the older agent in his arms as his friend collapsed backwards.

Cradling his friend in his left arm, Tom repeated, "Huck!" as his eyes met his friend's pained green eyes. Flickering his eyes over Finn, by the lantern's light, Tom could see blood seeping from his friend's stomach. Frantically he pressed his right hand against the wound, eliciting a moan of pain from Finn.

Huck's pale face focused on Tom and a weak smile turned up his lips as he registered the welcoming sight of his best friend. "Tom!" he rasped, forcing the relieved greeting from his tightening lungs. "Thought ...you...were ...dead."

"I'm fine, Huck, just like you're gonna be," Tom assured his eyes clinging to his best friend's pale face.

"I thought... I taught ya ...to lie.. better than that," Huck wheezed out, a smirk gracing his features.

"I ain't lying," Tom refuted, clutching Huck tighter to his chest even as he felt his friend's blood coat his right hand. "You're too stubborn to die."

With pain etched in every line of his face, Huck shook his head marginally where it rested in the crook of Tom's arm. "Even...the ...stubborn ones...die."

"Huck, no!" Tom brokenly denied, leaning over the man he held. "Fight this! Please, Huck, don't die on me!"

Huck raised a hand to Tom's bowed head, causing the younger man to pull back to meet his eyes. It hurt Huck's soul to see the tears running down his friend's face. "It's my... time, Tom." Tom shook his head vigorously but Huck continued, his eyes soaking in the sight of his friend, knowing it would have to last him a good while. "I got ...no regrets...'cept maybe ...not being ...round to keep you..outta trouble. So you gotta...do a ...better job...of doing that...yourself. Promise me, Tom...promise me ..you'll take care of..yourself. I want ..your...oath," Huck struggled to get the words out through the building pressure in his chest.

Despairingly, Tom accepted that he could do nothing to alter Huck's fate. His hand trembled as he withdrew it from Huck's wound and placed it in his best friend's weakening grasp. "I promise, Huck," Tom gave his oath as tears slipped down his face.

At Tom's words, peace settled in Huck's eyes. "I'm holdin'...ya...to it...Sawyer," he whispered then the light died in his eyes and the hand Tom held went limp.

"No!" Tom cried, pulling his friend's body fully into his embrace. "No," he brokenly sobbed, clutching tighter to his friend. "NO!" he yelled in utter rage and despair. The word echoed hauntingly off the water.

Tom jerked as if struck as the memories released their hold upon him. Swiping at the tears tracking down his face, he drew in a shaky breath. He needed to face the facts. Huck was gone...and there was no "do over".

Pushing himself off the floor, Tom stood up. Decisively he locked the door. He did not welcome any company. Though he doubted any would seek him out anyway. Bitterly he denied any hurt he felt at that truth. The others were called to be the league...he wasn't even suppose to be here.

Needing to shut out his thoughts, he crossed the room to a table where his traveling bag sat. He withdrew a bottle of whiskey from the bag's depths. Reverently his thumb traced over the whiskey's label...it was Huck's favorite brand. Brutally, Tom twisted off the cap and drank a generous helping straight from the bottle. He welcomed the burn of the fiery liquor. He took another gulp before walking to the bed and sinking down to sit on the mattress.

Placing the bottle on the nightstand, he shrugged out of his vest with a grimace of pain. With frustration and dread he looked to his right shoulder. He wasn't surprised to see a bloody stain marring his white shirt. Lifting his shirt with his left hand, he viewed the bandage underneath with little more than fascination. It was soaked with blood.

The shootout at Dorian's had not done the wound any favors. He had barely registered the pain in the heat of the battle. Instead all he had felt was vindication as his bullets slammed into each of the Fantom's men, knowing with certainty that the men would not be getting up...ever again, despite the amount of armor they sported. No, he had learned his lesson the hard way with the lackey on the dock whose armor had blocked his shot. Never again would he let some small measure of mercy unknowingly lead to the death of someone he cared about.

When the fighting was done, the excitement over, there was no denying, at least to himself, the considerable pain he was in. Nor could he ignore the fact that his right arm was trembling with the strain. Once aboard the Nautilus, he had taken a moment to see how bad the damage was. He wasn't surprised to see blood beginning to seep through the first layer of the bandage. But that didn't stop him from taking Quatermain up on his invitation to help bag Hyde. Course Tom had to resign himself to using his hand guns, knowing with certainity that his arm would no longer bear the strain of handling the Winchester.

When he was finally back in his room for the night, blood had turned the top layer of the bandage a nice pink color. Common sense told him to seek out one of the doctors aboard the ship to get it re-bandaged. But common sense and him didn't always see eye to eye. He didn't like sawbones...and he "really" didn't want to put himself into Mr. Hyde...or Dr. Jekyll's care. He had seen the true nature of the man. Then there was Nemo's doctor...a cold distant man Tom had been introduced to when he came aboard. Or Mina...he shivered as he remembered her proclivity to blood. Given those choices he decided he didn't need any doctoring. The wound had begun bleeding on it's own it sure as well could stop on it's own

And that theory might have worked...if he had declined Quatermain's shooting lesson. The kick of the adventurer's gun "Matilda" had torn through the last of the intact stitches. 'But I wouldn't trade that experience for anything,' he defended, a smile turning up his lips, thinking, not of the actual shooting, but of the time he had spent with Allan Quatermain, the famous hunter.

His smile faded as he remembered his foolish words to Quatermain. "Ah shoot," he mumbled and lay down on the bed, fully clothed and on top of the blankets. For a moment his eyes focused on the white ceiling. A moment later, he clamped his eyes shut and prayed that he would just slip into some void where his failures could no longer haunt him. As sleep crept over him, some survival instinct fought the void's grasp but he quelled the internal fight quickly. He wanted some peace...and he frankly didn't care what it would cost.

TBC

Thanks for reading! Love to hear what you think!

Cheryl W


	2. Chapter 2

Peace

By: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I don't own The League of the Extraordinary Gentlemen or anything in conjunction with LXG nor am I making a profit from this story. No copyright infringement is intended. Sadly, I do not own Tom Sawyer either.

Chapter 2

The league was actually gracing the dining room with their presence … all save one. Some would argue that the one missing was not a member of the league but merely a gatecrasher. The term brought a smile to Allan's face, he happened to like gatecrashers..didn't hurt that he considered himself one of their numbers. Instantly the smile vanished as his look settled back upon the empty chair, Tom Sawyer's empty chair.

'You had to brush him off, didn't you,' Allan rebuked himself, feeling distinctly responsible for the young spy's absence. 'You're the one that bloody mentioned Harry and then when he takes a polite interest you shut him out like some rude bugger. Boy didn't deserve your gruff shoulder, Quatermain. Boy was skittish enough before …though with all the bravado he throws around it's hardly noticeable. But now you've gone and scared him off. Damn Quatermain, who needs enemies with allies like you.'

Skinner's voice brought Allan from his thoughts, "Surprised the young pup is missin'. Thought he liked eatin' almost as much as that Winchester he likes totin'."

Turning a blazing gaze upon the white painted man seated to his right, Allan defended irritably, "That "young pup" saved your invisible behind with that Winchester. He deserves your respect."

"Hold up, Allan. Sawyer has my respect but that doesn't make 'em any older…or less susceptible to a bit of hero worship," Skinner's last words were low enough to only reach Allan's ears.

Allan flinched as if struck. Did the thief know what had happened on the conning tower …had he been there in all his invisible glory! Suddenly his hand clamped around Skinner's white neck. "I warned you about sneaking around."

This scene finally drew the full attention of all the league members but not a single one made a move to intervene. The invisible thief had talked himself into trouble he would just have to talk himself out of it.

"I took that warning to heart!" Skinner choked out around the pressure on his throat, his hand desperately trying to dislodge the old hunter's grip. "It don't take a genius to see the boy admires you…and it don't take a lot of detective work to put two and two together. Last I saw Sawyer he was heading up to join you on the conning tower and now suddenly he ain't into keeping company with you…or the rest of us. Tell me I ain't wrong to guess you got something to do with the kid keeping his distance tonight."

With a curse, Allan's hand left Skinner's throat as quickly as it had come. Throwing his napkin on the table, the adventurer surged to his feet, ruthlessly shoved his chair back from the table and stalked from the room. He heard Dorian's dry voice, "Savage manners to match his savage acquaintances I'm sure," before he slammed the door shut behind him.

"Curse the bloody intuitive invisible man!" Quatermain mumbled under his breath as his long strides ate up the floor. He didn't need some bloody thief giving him a lecture …and about a subject that Skinner knew nothing about. Skinner didn't know how to treat a boy looking for guidance…looking for a father figure. The thought brought Allan's steps to a halt. 'Like you do? You were a bloody lousy father to your own son. Last thing Sawyer needs is your useless presence in his life!'

'No, the best thing you can do is brush the boy's attentions aside.' But the thought of turning the cold shoulder to the young American tore into the adventurer's weathered heart. He liked the boy…too much…for his own good and for Sawyer's good. After all, what good could come from getting too close! "None" he groused aloud even as internally he yearned to get to know Sawyer better, to let himself feel connected to another human being.

'Stop thinking of yourself for a change, old man. Think of the boy! I sense enough hurts on the young man's soul, he doesn't need you adding to that tally. Let'em go. Let'em go like you shoulda let Harry go to be his own man 'stead of a Quatermain junior. Spare Sawyer your tainted 'fatherly' attention.' Without having been aware of his steps, Quatermain found himself standing in front of the closed door to Sawyer's room. Drawing in a steadying breath, Allan took the bull by the horns and knocked briskly on the door. It was best if he broke the ties now ..delaying would only make the task all the harder.

When no response came from behind the door, Quatermain rapped harder on the door and called, "Sawyer, it's Quatermain. We need to talk." Still there was no response. Some instinct too honed to be ignored made Allan's heart clench with worry. Something was wrong. "I'm coming in," he announced as he dropped his hand onto the door knob only to find the door was locked. His worry skyrocketed. "Thomas, open this damn door now!" he roared, fear and fury a dangerous mix in the old hunter. He waited barely two seconds before he took a step back from the door and promptly slammed his boot firmly into the wood of the door, causing the door to break free of the lock and swing open.

With two lithe steps, Quatermain was in the room but the sight before him had him stumbling to a halt. Fear gripped his heart at the sight of the sweat drenched, pale, shivering figure of Thomas Sawyer lying seemingly unconscious on top of the bed. Breaking from his shock, Allan instantly came to the young man's side. His breath caught as he saw the crimson stain blossoming upon the right shoulder of Sawyer's white shirt. With dread, he lifted the boy's shirt to find that a once white bandage wrapped around Sawyer's chest, telling the hunter that this was no fresh injury.

A concerned voice caused Allan to jerk around, "What's wrong with 'em?" Skinner demanded, crossing over to be at Sawyer's side.

Swinging around, Allan snagged Skinner's arm, drawing the man's full attention. "Go get Jekyll. Now!" he barked and shoved the man back toward the door.

To his credit, Skinner gave no protests but left the room at a run.

Turning back to Sawyer, Allan was struck anew with how vulnerable the young man looked. Almost of it's own accord, his hand gently settled upon Sawyer's feverish brow. Allan, leaning down over Sawyer, soothed, "Easy, son" in a tone of voice he thought he would never have cause to adopt again…not after Harry had died. The young spy did not respond and the heat under Allan's hand did little to quiet the older man's rising concern.

Notably Sawyer began to shiver more violently. Quatermain had seen more injuries, illnesses and deaths than he could number….or cared to remember and unerringly he knew the American was dangerously close to losing his life. Suddenly he felt like he was clutching Harry in his arms again, telling him it would be alright, that he would be alright, all the while feeling that his son was slipping through his fingers and he could do nothing to stop it.

'Not this time! Not again!' Allan denied fiercely, his fear rousing him into action. Taking hold of Sawyer's white shirt, Quatermain ripped it open fully, sending buttons flying to reveal the heavily blood soaked bandage. "Bloody hell, Sawyer!" Allan swore savagely, his emotions tittering between anger and fear. Why hadn't Sawyer told him he was injured! Deftly, Quatermain drew his knife from his right boot and cut through the bandages, taking extreme care to not cause the young spy further pain.

Gently peeling the soiled cloth away from Tom's shoulder to reveal the wound, Allan sucked in a breath at the sight. "Bullet wound," he angrily growled aloud wishing he could get his hands on the bloody bastard who had shot the young man. Shoving his fury aside, Quatermain quickly withdrew his handkerchief from his pocket. Tenderly he swabbed at the gun shot wound to clear away some of the welling blood. Gaining a clearer look at Sawyer's wound did nothing to quell Allan's fears. Instead they climbed to higher heights. "A badly infected bullet wound at that," he clarified with bitterness, knowing all too well the effects that an infection had on the human body.

Knowing he needed to calm down, Quatermain silently berated himself, 'Settle down, ya old fool!' He drew in a steadying breath. 'First things first. Gotta stop this blood pouring outta the boy.' To achieve that end, he pressed the handkerchief against the wound, provoking a small cry of pain from Sawyer. Allan's eyes flew up to Sawyer's. Half relieved and half concerned, he watched the American's head roll to the side in delirium but the young spy did not awakened. "You never do anything half way, I bet," Allan surmised, his voice holding admiration and worry as he lightly brushed his fingers down Tom's face, his heart twisting painfully.

'He's so bloody young! Least seven years younger than Harry….was.' That train of thought had him recoiling his hand from Tom's face as if burned. Attempting to clamp down upon his emotions, Quatermain ordered himself to focus solely upon the wound under his hands. 'He's not your son! He's not Harry! You hardly know him! Don't go gettin' so attached. He's a bloody spy, for Pete sake! Riskin' his life is "his" morning ride to work!' Allan chided himself with some of Sawyer's own words. To Allan's frustration, none of this logic eased his overwrought emotions. Instead his concerned eyes settled again on the young American's pale, sweat drenched face. He liked the boy. Damn it all, he liked the boy a lot.

The sound of running footfalls preceded Henry Jekyll's entrance into the room.

Without turning around to view the new arrival, Quatermain snarled, "It's about bloody time you get here, Jekyll!" His eyes searing into the doctor as the man came to his side.

Henry Jekyll's come back died in his throat as he got his first look at Sawyer. Without prompting, Quatermain lifted his handkerchief from Tom's shoulder to reveal the wound to the doctor. Jekyll's eyes flew to Quatermain. "He's been shot? How? When? Why didn't someone tell me sooner he was wounded?" he demanded as he skirted around Sawyer's bed to the other side and leaned over to inspect Sawyer's wound. "You 'claimed' that you told me everything that happened since M contacted you," his voice hard with anger. He had had his doubts that the league trusted him with all the facts…and now it seemed he had proof for his wariness.

Affronted by the condemnation in Jekyll's voice, Quatermain angrily retorted, "I did tell you everything! I didn't 'know' he was hurt!"

Before Jekyll could reply, two of Nemo's sailors entered the room and placed the items they bore, namely a bowl of hot water and bandages, on the table beside Jekyll and left the room as quietly as they had entered. But not before the second man was nearly knocked over by Skinner as he ran into the room, bearing Jekyll's medical bag. "Here's your bag, Jekyll," he said, handing it to Henry while his eyes fell down to Sawyer. With a start of shock Skinner exclaimed, "He's been shot!"

"We already figured that out," Quatermain dryly bit out, watching as Henry stood up straight, turned to the table and proceeded to wash his hands.

"Was he shot at Dorian's!" Mina Harker exclaimed from the doorway, Dorian and Nemo stood at her side.

"Wound is a few days old," Jekyll supplied, drying his hands and stepping back to Sawyer's side. His eyes met Quatermain's across Sawyer's shivering form, "The fewer people in this room the better," he quietly said, his suggestion clear.

Understanding grew in Quatermain. He had been shot before. He knew the agony such a wound invoked and he didn't want to imagine the added pain a bad infection threw into the mix. Jekyll was right. Sawyer didn't need an audience for his agony. "Get out, all of ya and close the door," he ordered, pointedly looking to Skinner and jerking his head toward the door.

With a last look of worry down at Sawyer, Skinner did as Quatermain bade, shutting the door firmly shut behind himself and the other members of the league.

At the closing of the door, silence fell in the room except for Sawyer's slightly labored breathing. Ill at ease, Quatermain watched Henry inspect the wound with surprisingly gentle fingers. It seemed unconceivable that this man was also the murdering Hyde.

The doctor doused a cloth in the water and began wiping away the slowing flow of blood that still concealed the wound from his full inspection. He pressed the cloth into the wound to blot out the remaining blood, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Tom. Again Sawyer's head tossed to the other side followed by a violent shiver that coursed through the lithe agent's body.

Putting a hand upon Tom's head, Quatermain leaned down close to the injured man. "Easy son. We're gonna get ya patched up."

Keeping his voice quiet, Henry disclosed, "He had stitches but not a one's in tact." Looking up from his inspection, he found himself pierced by Allan's searing look. The hunter's threat was clear to the doctor. "The degree of infection is high," Henry stated, needing the old adventurer to see reason. The infection alone could kill the American, not to mention the blood loss and the trauma the wound itself was still wracking on the young man's body. When Quatermain's eyes darkened further, Jekyll knew what the older man was leaving unsaid but heavily implied: He dies, you die. But death did not scare Henry…more than once he had even welcomed it. Instead of fear or anger, a gentle look of compassion entered Henry's features, "I will do all in my power to save him."

"See that you do," Allan gruffly replied, his emotions leaking into his voice.

Without another word, Jekyll finished washing away the blood from the wound and set the wet cloth aside. Taking a fortifying breath, he withdrew a vial from his medical bag and doused a clean cloth with the liquid. Without looking to Quatermain, Henry instructed of the other man, his hand holding the cloth hovering above Sawyer's wound, "Can you please hold him down. I need to clean the wound of the infection. The process will be quite painful."

Complying, Allan's hands came to rest securely on Tom's left shoulder and side, ensuring that the spy did not thrash away from the aid the doctor was about to deliver. With a nod of his head, Quatermain signaled to Jekyll that he was prepared.

Henry clenched his teeth as he lowered the cloth toward the wound. This is what he hated most about his profession…delving out pain to his patients albeit in an effort to aid them. Hyde was the one that enjoyed pain…giving and even receiving it. Quelling that thought, Henry pressed the medication laced cloth firmly against the gunshot wound ravaging Sawyer's shoulder.

Without warning, a hand gripped Henry's wrist in a bone crushing grasp. Henry's eyes shot toward his patient, stunned to see Tom's fever bright eyes blazing into him.

Barely restraining the scream of pain that wanted to tear out of him, Sawyer roughly bit out, "Whatever you're doing…stop." He put more pressure on the wrist in his grasp to make his point clear.

Jekyll opened his mouth to defend himself but it was Quatermain who replied, causing Sawyer to swivel his head to the left to see his second uninvited guest.

"Settle down, Sawyer. Jekyll's here to help you," Allan softly soothed, meeting Sawyer's eyes, eyes that radiated pain and fever.

"Don't need help," Tom gruffly refuted, again turning his look upon Jekyll. With disdain, the spy tossed Jekyll's wrist from his gasp. "I think you know where the door is."

Quatermain, purposefully ignoring the tension between the doctor and the spy, challenged, "Don't need help or don't want help?"

"Both," Sawyer lowly growled, making no effort to defuse the contempt in the burning gaze he directed at Jekyll.

Finally composed enough to defend himself, Henry started out meekly, "Now I know we did not get off on the right foot…"

A bitter smirk covered Tom's pale face as he interrupted, "Right foot? You tried to crush me under some mortar and take off my head with a chain."

Henry bristled as he always did when he was held accountable for Hyde's sins. "That was Hyde…"

The American never gave him the chance to finish his denial. "You've got the same heart, the same soul. To me that makes you accountable for his sins."

Sawyer's words cut Henry to the quick. Numbly Jekyll took a step back from the spy and began dejectedly putting his medical utensils back into his bag. For being so very young, the American had exceptional insight.

Stunned, Quatermain watched Jekyll prepare to leave the field of battle, his heart ripped out by Sawyer's surprisingly brutal utterance of the truth. Narrowing his eyes, Allan studied Sawyer with new respect and fascination. Sawyer had easily brow beaten Jekyll into doing what he wanted…into leaving him alone. 'He is not just some meek affable boy like he projected. There is fire in this one's blood, a fire not so unlike my own,' Allan realized.

Knowing it was now up to him to play hard ball in order to win this match, Quatermain gruffly announced, "Well lucky for you we have two other doctors on board, Mr. Nemo's physician and our own Mrs. Harker." His eyes held the spy's with a challenge. "The choice is yours. Make it, Sawyer," he firmly ordered, his tone and unflinching look brooking no protests on the matter.

Ignoring Quatermain's obvious threat, Tom refused. "None of 'em. I'm alright," he declared, beginning to shift himself up to sit against the bed's headboard.

"Don't move!" Henry admonished in alarm, reaching out to halt Sawyer's motion. But Quatermain's arm was suddenly in front of Henry, blocking the doctor's attempt to restrain the American. Helplessly, Henry watched Sawyer painfully pull himself up to lean against the headboard. The young man's face creased with agony and his breathing became more laborious. Turning furious eyes unto Quatermain, Henry's angry words caught in his throat at the look in the hunter's eyes, a look fraught with worry yet glimmering with understanding.

"Let me talk to 'em alone," the hunter gently requested, as if the subject of his conversation wasn't sitting there catching every word.

Jekyll could not comply so easily, not when he knew time was already against them. "He's lost a fair amount of blood and his fever's still climbing…" Henry countered, adopting Allan's oblivious attitude toward Sawyer's presence. Seeing the set look in Quatermain's eyes, Henry's words faded. He didn't know the man well but he sensed the hunter would get his own way..even if he had to physically toss Jekyll out of the room to do so. Forsaking his efforts to sway either the spy or the hunter, Henry walked from the room, shutting the door behind him.

The moment the door closed, Sawyer and Quatermain's eyes met. In silence, they sized up one another like two predator animals. Though Sawyer barely looked alive, his face ashen as he leaned heavily against the backboard, sweat making his hair damp and pain rolling off him like some physical wave, the agent's gaze did not waiver in strength as it held Allan's.

Realizing that his usually very effective censorious look was not going to be able to manipulate the young man's stubborn will, Allan abandoned such tactics. He had told Nemo that his pride and vanity had caused him to lose someone dear. He would not let his failings cost him such an unholy high price again.

Surprising the young man, Quatermain claimed a seat on the bed beside Tom. Allan met Sawyer's wary look not with sternness but understanding. They were not so different, this young spy and him. They both craved danger…and both were made to pay the sometimes harsh consequences for such indulgences. Allan's voice was gentle and full of empathy, "You and I both know that you're in a bad way. Stitches are out, wound's infected."

Unprepared for such straight talk from the other man, Tom almost reacted to the words. Almost. Instead he let the statement go unchallenged. It was the truth after all. He had been hurt often enough to know when he was nearing the edge. The agony of Jekyll's ministrations barely reached him in that comfortable void he had so willingly begun to succumb to. And he honestly didn't know if he felt relieved or frustrated to be pulled from the void's clutches.

When Sawyer's expression remained impassive, Allan was left to press on without encouragement. "I know first hand how hard it is to put your life in the hands of a stranger," he gave a little chuckle, "and this group is the strangest I've ever met." This earned him a small smile from the pale Sawyer. "But I would be dead a thousand times over if not for the kindness of strangers. We don't travel this world alone, Sawyer." At those words Allan detected a flash of pain and denial in the young man's too world weary eyes. In that instant, Quatermain wondered if his own eyes mirrored that same look. "Least we weren't meant to," he quietly added, his own voice gruff with pain and regret.

Tom clenched his jaw, refusing to speak, to give Quatermain more insight into his soul. Internally he was shouting, 'You sure about that, Quatermain! Cause every time I let someone in, they get taken from me. Maybe I'm suppose to be alone, maybe that's the only way more people won't get hurt.'

Unable to interpret Sawyer's silence, Quatermain made his case clear. "You've got to put your trust in someone, Sawyer. I know you don't know me well…or any of the others but I think we've proven ourselves to be pretty good guys…and gal in the case of Mina. Strange, I'll grant you that, but still decent folks that came rushing to your side when they heard you were hurt."

Sawyer gave Quatermain a sharp, accessing look, his surprise and disbelief unhidden.

Allan chuckled, "I'm not lying, boy. Skinner bolted outta here to get the doctor, Jekyll ran into this room huffing and puffing like he ran a mile and Mina, Nemo and even Dorian stood outside your door asking how you were." To Allan's enjoyment, Sawyer got an embarrassed, 'ah shucks' look upon his face and dropped his gaze to his hands that rested in his lap. "We're a team, Sawyer. Let Jekyll tend to your wound so we can go after the Fantom together."

This brought Tom's head up sharply to face Quatermain. 'The Fantom! What a selfish fool I've been! Huck's the one deserving peace…peace he ain't never gonna have until his death's been avenged, until I avenge his death. It's the debt I owe him…the only worthy thing I have left to give to the man who was my best friend nearly all my life. The man who gave his life in place of my own.'

"Get Jekyll," Tom gruffly ordered, his guilt firmly guiding his path once again.

Quatermain had achieved what he had wanted to but something told the old hunter that his victory had come at a high cost to the younger man. Maybe it was the dark look that flittered across the spy's face, maybe it was the way Sawyer was clenching his jaw now against a pain Quatermain knew wasn't all physical. He opened his mouth to ask …he didn't know what…he just needed to know that Sawyer was OK, that he hadn't hurt him with his bloody ill-conceived pep talk. Sawyer never gave him the chance.

Raising his voice so it would carry outside the door, Sawyer called with disgusted defeat, "Jekyll get in here."

Henry was through the door and at Sawyer's side a mere moment after the last of the spy's words were uttered. Without giving either Sawyer or Quatermain eye contact, Henry began setting out the items from his bag unto the bedside table.

Looking to the doctor, Tom sincerely apologized, "I'm sorry." Having decided that, just because he hated himself, there was no need to tear down everyone else. His eyes studied the doctor's facial expressions.

Henry's eyes slid to Tom's. With self loathing he quietly retorted, "You spoke only the truth."

Sawyer shook his head marginally, "Every man is many things…good, bad, sinner, saint. I've always believed that if a man does good he makes up for some of the wrongs he's done," Tom softly shared, his eyes shining with compassion amid his pain.

Light returned to Henry's eyes at the young man's words. "Thank you, agent Sawyer."

"Tom, call me Tom," Sawyer amended with a small smile, earning him a full fledged smile from Jekyll.

Quatermain watched the exchange with something he could only qualify as pride…in the young American. Quickly he brushed the emotion aside. He was becoming too sentimental in his old age.

Without warning, a long held back shiver viciously shook Sawyer's frame and the young man began to slump to the left.

"Sawyer!" Allan cried out in alarm, his hands latching onto Sawyer's arms, halting the spy's collapse. When Tom's glazed eyes met his, Allan felt fear ripped through him. He had seen that look before…in Harry's eyes… right before he died.

"You're right," Tom got out with terrible effort, suddenly the void was claiming him, uninvited this time. "I'm in a bad way." With the last of his fading strength he lifted his hand from his lap and gripped Allan's arm. In desperation, he demanded, his breath coming out hard as his eyes pleaded with Quatermain, "Promise me you'll get the Fantom."

"We'll get the bugger, together," Allan countered, refusing to acknowledge the full promise Sawyer was demanding of him.

'Quatermain will see that Huck is avenged if I can't…if this void doesn't let me go this time around.' Relieved, Tom unintentionally diminished his fight against the void. Suddenly Quatermain's grasp was the only thing keeping him upright.

"No!" Allan nearly shouted as Tom body went nearly boneless in his grasp and the young man's eyes began to close. Holding more tightly to the now nearly unconscious Sawyer, Allan gave the spy a shake, causing Sawyer's pain hued eyes to flitter open and focus on him. "Fight damn you! Let me see that American spirit I've heard so much about!" He pulled Tom toward him, desperate that this young man would not slip away from him. Sawyer blinked hard, trying to fight the void, not for his sake but because the action would please the older man. "You are no quitter, Sawyer. You and I are made outta the same coin, fighters both of us. Now keep your bloody eyes open, Tom."

But the void was too strong, it's talons had already been deeply embedded in the young man long before Quatermain and Jekyll made an appearance. "Can't," Tom murmured in apology before he promptly slipped into the void.

TBC

Replies to Reviews:

Sabrina: Thank you so much for your wonderful review! I couldn't have asked for a more encouraging supportive first review for this story! So glad you believe I helped fill the void regarding Huck's death. As for your preference for an AU on this movie, I am totally in agreement with you! I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter.

Ten Mara: Thank you so much for your great review! As you can clearly tell, I too am hooked on the father son relationship between Allan and Tom. That relationship was almost tangible in the movie. But I just didn't think they expressed Tom's grief at Huck Finn's death…guess that's why I'm writing this story…to solve that oversight. Thank you for liking my "insights" in the shooting lesson scene. Hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Julia: You totally flattered me with your kind words! Thank you! I hope I don't disappoint you. Love to hear what you thought of this chapter.

Sawyer Fan: I really value your opinion because your fantastic LXG story (lxg the sequel) got me re-obsessed with this movie and therefore inspired me to try my hand at LXG writing. (To my shame, I never gave you a review! I'm a closet reader most of the time but I truly love your story). I'm so pleased you liked my observations and Tom's reactions to Allan's attentions. I'm really interested in your opinion as this story continues!

Alone Dreaming: Thank you very much for your lovely review! I appreciate it!

Claudette: You're wonderful! Thank you so much for caring that I wrote something other than LOTR and doing me the honor of not only reading it but reviewing it too! I was glad you liked the way I showed Tom and Huck's friendship. (I have to admit to reading "Tom Sawyer" and rereading "Huck Finn" to try and get a feel for the characters). I like your insight…knowing that Tom will be changed if he forges a father son relationship with Allan! Again, I really am touched by your devotion and faith in my writing!

Kid Vicious Clone: Thank you for your kind review and your desire for more of the story. Hope you like where this story is going.

Tonianne: Thank you for your awesome review! I hope you let me know if you like this chapter as well.

Thanks to everyone who took the time to read this story!

Cheryl W.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Gradually consciousness pushed back the void that had held Sawyer captive. With determination, the young man pried open his eyes, blinking his surroundings into focus. At first a jolt of apprehension ran through him at the sight of the unfamiliar room he inhabited. Then, like a blinding light, he remembered…it all. He was on the Nautilus …and Huck was dead.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he battled the overwhelming wave of despair and guilt. He couldn't succumb to the emotions, not now, not before the Fantom was dead and Huck was avenged. As a voice broke into his thoughts, Tom's eyes flew open and he stiffened in surprised alarm. Even that slight movement jarred his body, sending agony flaring through his veins.

With overwhelming relief, Allan Quatermain had watched the American's eyes flutter and finally remain open to take in the sight of the right side of the room. The older man was about to let the man know of his presence when Sawyer's eyes had clamped shut as if he were engaged in a fierce battle to ward off an onslaught of pain. "Should I get Jekyll? Are you in a great deal of pain?" Allan had hurriedly inquired in concern, his tone pitched softly so as not to startle the younger man. When Tom jerked in surprise, Allan cursed himself, immediately placing his hand upon the spy's unharmed left shoulder, effectively pinning the secret service agent's weakened body to the mattress.

Tom's head flew to the left, his eyes alighting on the reassuring presence of Allan Quatermain. Though he was still struggling to awake fully, Tom however detected a difference in the other man since they had talked. Calling upon his ingrained observational skills, the spy began to categorize the changes that had been wrought in the famed hunter. Even to a novice of observation, the weariness in the adventurer was all too visible. No, it was the underlying alterations that piqued Tom's interest. The twinkle in Quatermain's dark eyes was tuned so low it was almost extinguished. Almost. Then there was the set of the man's jaw, as if it was stiff from being clenched tightly for too long. Lastly there were the markings of a struggle for restraint in the man's actions, voice, and eyes.

Tensing under Quatermain's hand, Sawyer felt fear grip him as he thought of the possible events that could be causing the hardened adventurer such torment. His eyes bore into Allan's eyes, conveying that he would not stand to be sheltered from the apparent bad news. "What's wrong?" he demanded, his voice roughened by his time in the void.

Allan's eyebrows hiked in shock at the spy's question. Had the boy suffered some loss of memory? But the eyes that held his were surprisingly clear, especially after the night the spy had endured. With rising anger, Quaterman deduced that memory loss was not the culprit for Sawyer's question, stubborn pride was. Was the boy so addle brained that he didn't know how serious his condition had been! Or was he trying to deny his vulnerability as he had done last night? "What's wrong!" he exclaimed in outrage, giving the healthy shoulder under his hand a rough shove before he pulled back to tower over the prone young man. "You nearly died!"

Tom's eyes narrowed, gauging the older man's words and reactions, attempting to determine their percentage of truth. By the kindled fire in Quatermain's eyes, Tom knew it mattered little if Allan was speaking the truth. What did matter was that Quatermain believed that he was speaking the truth. Having seen a similar look many times in his Aunt Polly's eyes, Tom knew the best thing he could do was side step the fight and counter with the truth of the here and now. His voice as strong and steady as he could manage, Tom declared, "I'm alright now."

Such a statement would have soothed his aunt. With Allan Quatermain it seemed to ignite a bonfire.

With a voice that rose in fury and could have cut a diamond, Quatermain railed, "Alright! You bloody well aren't alright! Why didn't you tell me, any of us, that you were hurt! Shot in fact!"

His hackles raised by the inquisition, Sawyer, disliking his vulnerable position under the older man's glare, overrode his body's protests and began to try to sit up. But once again the hunter's hand settled onto his shoulder, restraining his motions. Rebellion flared in Sawyer as it always did when he felt himself under someone's control. His answer, which moments prior would have been an ashamed apology for the omission, now turned into a gruff retort. "Wasn't something you needed to know," his tone matching the hard glint in his hazel eyes that were piercing into Quatermain.

Disbelief and fury shot through Allan. "Didn't need to know!" His hands balling into fists, fighting back the urge to strangle the American, Allan let his incensed look do some of his work for him. "You took on all of the Fantom's men at Dorian's house and chased after Hyde with a gunshot wound that's not even a week old! What kinda bloody fool are you! It's a miracle you didn't drop over dead!"

Quatermain's censure and obvious lack of faith in his abilities penetrated Tom's protective barriers with skilful cruelty. Angrily, Tom, with a swipe of his left arm, dislodged Allan's hand from his shoulder. "I've been shot before. I know my limits," he confidently insisted, his tone nearly a snarl.

Allan's heart clenched at Tom's words, their painful meaning. 'He's been shot before!' reverberated through his mind. Instead of letting his anguish reveal itself, Allan unleashed his barbed tongue, "So getting shot is a habit with you? How reassuring?"

To this Sawyer snapped back sarcastically, "Yeah, it's habitual. I like to do it every fifteen years to keep myself in practice."

"Damn it, this is not a joke!" Quatermain roared, his façade of impartiality destroyed by his overwrought emotions. His eyes bore into the still pale young man. Sawyer returned his glare unflinchingly.

"I'm not laughing," Sawyer countered his tone cold enough to freeze Africa.

Suddenly feeling like life was out of his control, Allan shot out of the chair he had occupied all night and stalked for the door. When his hand wrapped around the door knob he halted all motion. He could not leave without making sure one important message was indelibly singed on the young man's brain. Swinging around to face Sawyer, Allan pointed a menacing finger to the prone man, his eyes clashing with the spy's. "Your life in not expendable! You act like it is ever again and I'll shoot ya myself." Ripping the door open, Quatermain stormed from the room.

Tom flinched as the door slammed shut in the hunter's wake. Not at the sound but at the finality it expressed. Whatever connection he had hoped to make with Quatermain was doubtlessly severed forever now. 'Stubborn fool!' Sawyer berated himself, sinking more firmly down upon the mattress, closing his eyes and allowing the true pain and exhaustion to register on his face. Tentatively he raised his left hand to the bandage and pressed experimentally on the gunshot wound. He clamped his teeth down into his lip to choke off his agonized cry.

In two days he hoped to come face to face with the Fantom and avenge Huck's death. How could he do that when agony consumed him and lifting his head off the pillow seemed too great a task in his weakened state!

Quatermain stalked down the corridor allowing his fury and frustration to reign, for he knew that if he let his prominent emotion free, it would be his undoing. "Bloody stubborn reckless American!" he grumbled, his steps eating up the shining floor of the Nautilus. '_Why I bothered to sit by your bed all night I'll never know! You'll probably leap in front of the first bullet that comes your way!' _But that thought caused shame and dread to wash over the adventurer. "Why did I have to let him sign on with us?" he sighed aloud with bitter regret. "I could have **bought** a Winchester and been done with it."

Instantly Quatermain rebuked himself. He could not let that lie he told himself go unchallenged. For in his heart, he knew the Winchester had never been the ticket for the young man's admission into the league. No, Sawyer's actions at Dorian's told Quatermain all he needed to know about the young stranger. None of the "official" league members had garnered his respect or trust but Sawyer had, and with unequalled speed. And if Quatermain had learned anything in life it was that every man had need of an ally.

Now that need seemed too great a vulnerability. His words to Mina returned to him, "I've buried two wives and many lovers. And I'm in no mood for more of either." '_I should have included sons in that tally.'_ Burying one son had almost killed him…he would not survive losing another. '_You old fool! Get it through that thick head of yours! Sawyer isn't your son! He's a stranger you met only yesterday!"_

Coming to his room, Allan crossed over the threshold, slamming the door shut behind him. Without pause, he went to the table, snatched up the bottle of whiskey he had had the forethought to bring along and took a healthy swallow, hoping the burning liquor would sear out the sentimentality that seemed to be choking his logic. Suddenly he slammed the bottle down in disgust. It was no use. Somehow Sawyer had barged through his barriers like no one had in years…not since Harry's death. Nigel had been instrumental in keeping out the adventure seeking strangers from Allan's life and Allan had successfully kept Nigel and his other acquaintances out of his heart. '_Or so I thought,' _he bitterly realized, reliving the sorrow that had nearly swallowed him whole at Nigel's death, of the deaths of the other members of the Britannia club. They had been more than men to share a drink with, they had been friends whether he had wanted them to be or not. '_I thought I was safe from loss. I found out the folly of that thought with sharp brutality.'_

"I was wondering why you signed up for all this," Sawyer had asked him. Allan cringed now as he recalled his brazen reply, 'They called. I answered.' "Prideful bugger," he castigated himself as he sank onto his bed. '_But the boy, nay the spy, saw through my ruse.' _"But that ain't all of it?" Allan could hear the certainty in Sawyer's voice all over again, as if the spy stood in the room now, repeating the question.

Only now did Allan answer with the truth, now when no one would hear it. "No, that wasn't all of it," he admitted with a whoosh of breath, leaning his hands against his thighs, cursing the fate that had him sailing in this "canoe" with so many intuitive people. Right now he could have used some of their insight himself for it seemed he did not know his own mind. '_Why am I here? Revenge? Duty? Patriotism? Or for the ultimate assurance that no more sorrow will decimate my soul…for death?' _His words to the unconscious Sawyer rang through his mind, "You are no quitter, Sawyer. You and I are made outta the same coin, fighters both of us." '_Is that still true,'_ Allan wondered. '_Am I still a fighter?_'

Quatermain's eyes longingly sought out the whiskey bottle he had foolishly left on the table across the room but he was too tired and unmotivated to retrieve it. Unbidden his thoughts returned to Tom Sawyer. '_Thank God he's a fighter! A fierce one at that.' _Dropping his head down and rubbing at the nape of his neck with his hand, Allan tried to release the tension that still strained his every nerve. Last night he had honestly feared that the young man had engaged in a battle he was destined to lose. Allan had raged and fought against that notion, that destiny with tooth and nail… for Sawyer, for a young American he barely knew. Easily he could admit that he had fought harder for Sawyer's survival than he cared to fight for his own. '_Old tiger nearing its end,' _he repeated as if that explained his lack of concern for his own self-preservation.

Sliding his hand from his neck to his cheek, Allan was surprised at the unfamiliar texture of his hand. Holding his hand out for his inspection, he was almost shocked at the blood that still stained his hand, Sawyer's blood. Only he and Jekyll knew how close the young American had come to dying last night. '_Too bloody close_,' ricocheted through Allan without mercy, causing his heart to constrict and his mind to return to the living nightmare he had been through hours before. A shiver coursed though the seasoned adventurer as he vividly recalled Sawyer arguing with him one second and collapsing in his arms, barely drawing breath the very next second. As terrifying as those memories were, now what unnerved him the most was his own emotional reaction to the young man's possible fate.

Hours Prior

When Sawyer's eyes closed, his head fell forward and he collapsed against Allan's chest, terror and despair assaulted Quatermain. The adventurer in Quatermain ordered him to check for a pulse, to know the boy's fate…but the man in him, the father in him, could not bear to know the truth..not now, not yet. Instead he pulled Sawyer more securely against his chest, tightly wrapping his arms around the young man and resting his head upon the boy's blond tresses. '_It could not be happening…not again! Not to another young man full of such life!'_

Breaking from his shock at the spy's collapse, Henry fearfully reached his hand toward the American clutched in Quatermain's grasp. Pressing his fingers against the spy's neck, relief shuddered through Jekyll. "He's still alive," he breathed, his eyes meeting Quatermain's over Sawyer's bowed head.

Quatermain shut his eyes, struggling to reign in his emotions. He couldn't bear this pain, not again. "Yes, but for how long?" he bitterly demanded, opening his eyes and daring Jekyll to attempt a lie.

"I…I don't know…his chances..well, they are not the best," Henry stammered, his previously impartial outlook for the young man's fate suddenly hued with heart felt regret. Incredibly, Sawyer had become his friend amid their small exchange of words only moments prior. '_Deuced bad timing to determine you like the boy_,' Henry admonished himself.

Tenderly Allan put his hand on the back of Sawyer's head, "Chances, odds, fate, destiny…I hate 'em all," he venomously growled, his tone a sharp contrast to the gentleness of his touch upon Tom.

Jekyll simply stood transfixed by the sight of the gruff hunter gently holding unto the so very young spy. He was loath to attempt to disengage Sawyer from Quatermain's possessive hold.

Instead it was Quatermain himself that set things in motion. Warring against all the cruel machinations of life, Allan swore that he would not let death steal over this young man. Bracing Sawyer's back with his right arm, Quatermain slipped his other arm under the American's legs and carefully picked the young man up into his arms. Jerking his chin toward the bed, Allan ordered of Jekyll, "Pull back the covers so I can lay him down," his voice thick with evoked emotions as he cradled the young man in his arms. He had carried Harry in his arms…when it was too late for his boy to appreciate his love. Swallowing hard, Allan looked down at Tom's pale face and pulled the American more tightly to him. '_Not this time. Not again_,' he vowed again.

Jekyll had instantly complied with Quatermain's wishes. Surprised when the hunter didn't immediately lay down his burden upon the mattress, Henry's eyes flew up to Quatermain. The doctor was prepared to see the vulnerability in the American…he was not at all prepared to see it in the renowned adventurer. Quatermain looked as if he held the most precious thing he possessed in his arms. And yet, if Jekyll had the facts straight, Quatermain had only known the young man a day. "Allan," he quietly called, breaking Quatermain from his trance.

Shutting down his memories, Allan carefully laid Sawyer down upon the mattress. Finding it nearly painful to break his contact with the young man, Quatermain rested his time weathered hand on the blond head. His eyes flicked over to Jekyll. "Well, do your thing, doctor! Now!"

"Yes, right," Henry replied, re-dousing the cloth with liquid from the vial. When he turned to Sawyer to resume the procedure that the young spy's resurrection minutes prior had interrupted, Henry saw Quatermain again had placed his one hand upon Sawyer's shoulder and the other upon the young man's waist to restrain him. With a nod of approval, Henry took a breath and firmly pressed the cloth down upon the gunshot wound. Even unconscious Sawyer grunted and his body arched against the sharp pain.

It took a considerable amount of Quatermain's strength to keep Sawyer on the mattress. When Jekyll removed the cloth from the wound and the young man relaxed under his hands, Allan drew in a relieved breath. The next second he knew his relief had been premature…very premature. The good doctor was heavily dousing the cloth once again. Quatermain's dismayed look caught Jekyll's eyes.

Chagrined, Jekyll explained, "This is the least invasive way I can attempt to clean out the infection. If this doesn't work…the other procedures…he may not survive them."

Finding words illusive at that prediction, Allan simply nodded his head in understanding, tightening his restraining grip upon Sawyer. Jekyll, seemingly pitilessly, pressed the cloth inside the hole in Sawyer's flesh. Sawyer cried out in agony, his body arching off of the mattress only to be pressed back down by Quatermain's firm but gentle grip. "It's gonna be alright, Sawyer," Allan reassured gently, keeping his leverage upon the now savagely trembling body as he cringed in sympathetic pain as Jekyll swabbed the cloth inside the wound. A sharp cry of pain ripped from Sawyer's throat. Quatermain's eyes flew to Jekyll's, "Easy, damn it, easy!" he barked to the doctor, "He's in enough pain without your brutal ministrations."

Henry's tightly reigned emotions began to crack under the pressure and ingratitude. "He's lucky to be feeling 'anything'! Most men would be dead already! If you don't want to see him end up that way, I suggest you leave the doctoring to me!"

Allan opened his mouth but promptly shut it. He knew he could do nothing to aid Sawyer but Jekyll could. "I'm sorry," he gruffly said, "Continue doing what you're doing, doctor."

Quatermain's words seemed to ignite Jekyll's anger. Throwing the cloth to the table, Henry let out a curse and wrapped his hand around the base of his neck. "It's no good," he lowly announced, pulling his gaze from the wall to rest on Quatermain. By Allan's bone white complexion Henry knew his words were being interpreted to their worst conclusion by the older man. "I mean this method," Henry clarified, immediately seeing some color return to the adventurer. "I can't cleanse the infection out this way. It runs too deep."

"What are your other options?" Allan managed to get past the constriction in his throat.

With a fortifying breath, Henry slid his hand from his neck and looked down at the trembling, pale, sweat drenched young American. "To make an incision into the wound and cut out the infection."

Allan's breath caught in his chest. He knew the strain that action would inflict on Sawyer's tenuous hold on life. Quietly, as if he was afraid that to say it any louder would make his doubts come true, Quatermain asked, "He's so weak…will he survive that?"

Seeing the trepidation in the older man, Henry softly said, "I can see you value this young man's life and what I propose seems cruel and unnecessary but make no mistake, he will die if the infection maintains its hold upon him."

Clenching his jaw at the frank news, Allan focused again on Sawyer's face, the blood vessels almost visible under the young man's ever paling skin. Allan knew Jekyll spoke the truth. He himself had known the edge the young man teetered on when he found him lying unconscious on his bed, blood soaking his shirt. Looking up and meeting Henry's eyes, Allan ordered, "Do it."

Seeing that trust instead of a threat lay in the other man's eyes, Henry nodded before picking up a scalpel and turning to his patient. To his surprise, Quatermain's hand caught his wrist arresting his motion.

"You're going to give him something for the pain, aren't you?" Allan asked in disbelief but when Jekyll's eyes darkened he knew the answer already.

"I don't dare to …not with the amount of infection and blood loss," Henry sympathetically answered, hating the predicament Sawyer had unwittingly put him in. "If only I had gotten to the wound before the stitches were out …before it became so badly infected…" he began with heart felt regret but he broke off the words. He of all people knew the futility of hindsight.

Guilt tore into Allan. '_I should have figured out he was injured! I should have wondered why he used his hand guns when we set out to capture Hyde! I should have realized something was wrong when he hesitated to shoot Matilda when he practically had been transfixed by the gun since I showed it to him.' _ Suddenly Allan's breath caught in his throat, "Matilda," he said aloud with cruel understanding.

Catching the word, Henry repeated in confusion, "Matilda? What does a female have to do with this?"

With guilt and self loathing Quatermain supplied, "It's not a female…its my bloody gun."

"You shot him?" Henry exclaimed in disbelief. Surely he had not misunderstood the relationship between these two men so greatly.

"NO!" Allan roared, appalled at even that thought. "On the deck, I insisted he shoot my gun, Matilda." Closing his eyes he confessed, "It recoils like the kick of five horses."

Quietly Henry acknowledged, "It tore open his stitches."

Sadly, Quatermain nodded and forced his eyes open to fix on Sawyer. Lightly he put his hand to Tom's cheek, "I'm sorry, lad. I should have figured it out but I didn't."

"You didn't know," Henry gently consoled. "It seems Tom was set on keeping his wound to himself. Even now that we know, he fought against any aid."

"I should have figured it out," Allan repeated with remorse.

"You did figure out that something was wrong or else you wouldn't have kicked in his door."

This garnered a grimace from Alan. "Too little too late," he groused.

"No, not too late. Not yet," Jekyll corrected, gripping the scalpel tighter in his gasp and ordering, "Hold him down firmly."

For a moment a protest sparked in Quatermain's eyes before it faded to resigned acceptance. Once again he settled into a position to restrain Sawyer. "Let's get this bloody task over with," he gruffly said, wishing that he knew some other way to save the young man's life. Agony wasn't a strong enough description for the level of pain he knew Sawyer would endure under Henry's treatment. From personal experience Quatermain knew that even unconsciousness would not keep Sawyer from feeling the agony.

The rest of the memories were enough motivation to get Allan off the bed and across the room to take another long drink of the liquor. He could still hear Sawyer's screams as the scalpel cut deeply into the infected wound and as Jekyll cleared the wound of infection, the young man's writhing body slick with sweat almost escaping his hold. It was not long into the procedure before Allan had to clamp his jaw tightly together to forestall his own plea to Jekyll to stop the torture to the young man.

Even after the wound was cleared of infection and restitched, Sawyer's torment did not end for the fever refused to relinquish its prey. Sawyer thrashed and shivered and called in his delirium one name, Huck, with a forlorn desperation that Allan's heart could scarcely endure. Immediately, seeking to sooth Sawyer's anguish, Allan placed one hand on the American's fevered brow and clutched Tom's hand in the other while he gently whispered reassurances to the extremely ill man. "Shhhh, son, everything's going to be alright. Easy now. Lie still."

But Quatermain had not known if he spoke the truth to Tom or a lie. He did not know for certain that all would be well, that the wounded man would survive and Jekyll would give no reassurances as he bathed Sawyer's burning forehead with a wet towel. Then, for all the terror Sawyer's nightmares induced in Quaterman, it was infinitely worse when Tom suddenly lay seemingly lifeless on the bed, his labored breathing the only sign that he still lived.

It was amid that desperate time that Jekyll had announced that there was nothing more either of them could do to aid Sawyer, that now the fight was the young man's alone. With every ounce of his soul, Allan rebelled against the thought of death stealing away Sawyer's life. To have Jekyll abandon hope was almost too much for Quatermain to bear. "There's nothing you can do! If you had put your abilities to good use instead of some damn potion to turn yourself into a monster like Hyde then maybe there would be something you could do to save his life! Get out."

Seeing the dangerous glint in Quatermain's eyes, Jekyll didn't protest but left the room immediately, certain that if he was truly needed the adventurer would put aside his rage and seek him out. There was no doubt in his mind that Quatermain would let nothing hinder Sawyer's chances for survival.

Since the discovery of the spy's wound, Skinner, Nemo, Mina and Dorian had each stopped in to see the young man but none had stayed for long. Some could not bear to witness the young spy brought so low and others did not like being under Quatermain's overprotective scrutiny when they stood at Sawyer's side. So it was, Quatermain sat alone beside Sawyer in the wee hours of the morning, bathing the young man's face, softly recapping some of his adventures and praying that Tom's life be spared. Too focused on his task to wonder why he valued this young man's life so very highly.

Now with Sawyer on the mend, Allan had nothing to occupy his mind and he was confronted with the true reason for his actions. Against all his logic, protests and denials, he had to admit that Tom had begun to fill some of the void in his soul that Harry had left. To be sure, Sawyer was nothing like Harry.

Harry had not been molded from his father's image, though he had tried to replicate the elder Quatermain. No, Harry's nature was gentle, forgiving and conservative. For the millionth time, Allan cursed himself for not recognizing his son's true nature earlier, before he got him killed. Had he known, had he taken the time to know his own son he would have refused Harry's request to accompany him on the mission. The boy had his own worthy path in life to travel. He should never have felt compelled, either by his father or by the world, to travel in the footsteps of the legendary Allan bloody Quatermain. Shutting down those unbearable thoughts, Allan returned his thoughts again to Sawyer.

No, Sawyer was not like Harry. '_He's like me," _Quatermain surmised, half with pride and half in worry, bitterness and regret. He knew all he himself had endured by his rash choices. He didn't want Sawyer to suffer any of the same agonies. '_Seems like he already has. Second bullet wound in his young life! Reckless boy does measure danger the way I do!' _And that notion troubled Allan more than he ever thought possible.

_TBC_

_Reply to Reviews:_

LXGFanGirl: Me! Kill Tom! I wouldn't do that…torture him, kidnap him but never kill him. Thanks so much for your wonderful review and enthusiasm!

Sabrina: Thank you so much for your wonderful compliments! I really appreciate them! So glad I'm portraying the characters and their feelings well. I've watched and rewatched the movie trying to know the character's better. So Glad my efforts showing. I would like to take this story up to the end of the movie and a little beyond but I guess I'm afraid it'll get too boring and tiresome to cover that whole time span. Truly it's up to you where I end this story. You're the one keeping me writing! Can't thank you enough for your support.

Julia: I totally agree with your statement about great beginnings of stories and then they let you down. I really hope that I don't let you down like that. It's fantastic compliments like yours that helps me to keep writing and striving to improve each chapter. I LOVE hearing from you and getting your thoughts so please continue to drop me reviews!

Ten Mara: Ah…you are so right! Our Tom would never slink out of this life with a croak of "can't"! Can't fool you can I? Thanks for your much appreciated review!

Alone Dreaming: No need to apologize for short reviews ever! I appreciate the time and effort and vulnerability you put forth in Giving a review! I am horrible at dropping reviews to stories! I'm still blushing over your review. And indeed poor Tom and poor Allan. Boy I love writing angst…as long as it ends well. Thanks again.

Sawyer Fan: You deserved every compliment I gave you and more! I'm so pleased you liked last chapter! It was fun writing/envisioning Quatermain kicking in Tom's door. Those protective instincts are wonderful to see in action. And as you read this chapter, I too believe that Allan and Tom are much alike..which tugs on Allan's well guarded heart. Hope you hear your thoughts on this chapter.

Claudette: I couldn't kill Tom, I have too much angst for him to bear in this story! I like your insight into the "groundwork" for the story's future! I depend on comments to aid me in shaping this story so thank you very much! Thanks so much for your continued support and reviews!

Xanthia Morgan: Thanks so much for your awesome review! Glad you like the father son relationship between Tom and Allan. As you can tell, I'm a sucker for that stuff too! By the way, I'm reading your Smallville story where Clark falls into a cave and I love it! I"ll drop you a review when I get a chance! Hope to hear from you!

Tonianne: Thank you for your wonderful encouragement and compliments! Hope you like this chapter too!

Laura B: Thank you so much for your great review! It's always a wonderful compliment when the reader desires to know what comes next! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
Kingleby: I enjoyed getting your 2 awesome reviews! Thanks! I'm touched that my Huck dying scenes almost made you cry! I'm also glad you saw where I was coming from with Tom's reluctance to trust Jekyll! Thanks for saying I'm writing the characters/emotions well! It's always a struggle to get it right! Hope to hear your thoughts on this chapter!

LotRseer3350: Thank you for the wonderful compliments! I'm glad it seems to be an original idea. I was a little worried because I haven't read much LOTR and hoped this ground hadn't been covered already. Btw: I did sneak over and read your LXG where Tom dies…brilliantly done! It makes me really appreciate your opinions!

Thanks for reading and reviewing and giving me the time to tell the story at my own pace!

Cheryl W.


	4. Chapter 4

Authors Notes: I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter! This chapter turned into a difficult one to write. I've rewritten it and revised it so many times that I'm leery that it's any good. It's shorter than my other chapters but I decided to stop before I messed it up with more mediocre writing. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 4

A sharp impertinent knock interrupted Tom's dark ruminations. Sighing at the intrusion into his private misery, he turned his head to view the door, too spent to hazard a guess at his visitor's identity. Without his permission, the door swung open and his guest sauntered into the room.

"No need to wait for an invitation, Gray," Sawyer disdainfully sallied, watching Dorian approach like a predator cornering its prey. Cursing his weakened state that ruled out sitting up to face his uninvited and unwelcome guest, Tom became acutely aware of one fact: he had expended the last of his strength fighting the wrong battle. Allan Quatermain was no threat to him but his gut instinct told him that the same could not be said of Dorian Gray.

Relaxing back into the mattress as if he stayed there at his own leisurely desire, Sawyer lanced his green eyes into Gray's. "So what brings you to my side, Gray? Were you hoping to gloat over my corpse?" his tone light in contrast to the sharp dislike reflected in his features.

Dorian gave a gentlemanly snort, "On the contrary. I was hoping to find you awake and lucid. We have some things to discuss _American_," his disdain for Sawyer's country unmasked.

Staring up undauntedly at the man who stood over him, Tom clasped his hands upon his stomach. "I thought we said all we ever needed to say to one another, _Englishman_, back at your house," he drawled.

An unkind smile turned up Dorian's lips as he condescendingly looked down at the prone younger man. "Yes, well, I talked but you didn't listen. Truly I wonder what good you think you can do our mission, injured and ill as you are. Do you understand all that is at stake in this little "adventure" you are tagging along on? A world war looms in our future if we fail…if Quatermain fails."

The only tell tale sign that Dorian had struck his mark was the hardness that permeated Sawyer's voice. "I know what's at stake, Gray. We will bring down the Fantom."

"_We_?" Dorian repeated with a raised eyebrow as he swept his hand over Sawyer's weak body. "_You_ can't even sit up. How do you propose you can save the world from villains like the Fantom, _boy_?"

Clenching his jaw, Tom struggled to let the insult roll off of him. It was strange, he didn't rail against Quatermain calling him boy but when Dorian said it…it's connotation was altogether different. "Well I saved your tailored butt from the Fantom's clutches back at your house while I was sporting this gunshot wound and I don't even have your immortality to hide behind."

Gray's eyes flickered with anger before they darkened again with restraint. "Your heroics were unnecessary, Sawyer. We could have put an end to the Fantom then and there had you not interfered."

Sawyer chuckled and gave a boyish grin, "Really. You had everything under control did you?" his disbelief and challenge gleaming in his eyes.

Without uttering a rebuttal, Dorian began to stroll around the room, running his fingers over the furniture and Sawyer's belongings. He stopped at the table where Sawyer's travel bag sat open. With his back to Sawyer he said, "Your presence here baffles me, Special Agent Sawyer of the Secret Service. I thought your agency only hunted down counterfeiters." Mockingly, Dorian gave a look over his shoulder and snidely taunted, "Don't tell me the Fantom was passing around bogus currency in your pathetic country," before turning his look back to the bag on the table.

"Your information is a little outdated, Gray," Tom replied coldly, hiding his surprise that the Englishman knew so much about the agency that few Americans even knew existed. "The Secret Service has broadened its objectives to national security."

"Espionage," Dorian purred, promptly upturning Sawyer's bag to dump its content onto the table.

Sighing with fabricated frustration, Sawyer quipped, "It took me forever to pack things just right in that bag." Gray's antics were laughable in comparison to the interrogations, torture and threats Sawyer had garnered by some of the meanest individuals the United States had the misfortune to call citizens.

Deftly Dorian sorted through Sawyer's belongings in moments. The only thing that captured his attention was a badge that was a five point silver star with the words "U.S. Secret Service" engraved on each point. Picking up the badge, he ran his fingers over the engraved words as if they represented something he could never achieve before he tossed the badge back upon the table with disdain. Turning around he leaned against the table sighting his dark look upon Sawyer. "It figures. Your belongings are as boring as you are."

"While we're playing show and tell, why don't you go get your belongings and I'll rummage through them," Sawyer replied with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Crossing to the bed, Dorian looked down at Sawyer, "You Americans always think you are so funny." Resting his hand on Tom's bandaged shoulder, Dorian, watching the pain increase on the younger man's face, dropped his tone to a conspiratorial whisper. "But you are not funny. You are a nuisance, like a child underfoot, needing protection, distracting Quatermain from the task at hand." Leaning down close to Sawyer, Gray applied more pressure upon the shoulder under his hand and whispered in Tom's ear, "Sit this hunt out, boy…before something bad happens."

Then Dorian stalked across the room, shut the door as he exited and walked unsuspectingly right past a fully invisible Rodney Skinner.

Skinner had been wavering between two courses of action: coming to the injured young man's rescue or keeping his presence at the doorway a secret. Listening to his instincts, he had opted to remain undetected, though it bothered him to see Dorian mistreat Sawyer. With Gray's departure, Rodney found himself standing outside Sawyer's closed door wondering if he should go talk to the young American. Again it was his instincts that dictated his path. Turning on his heel, he began the trek back to his room. Sawyer wasn't the only one who needed time to think. '_This group I got myself involved with is more complicated than I first imagined…and I had them pegged as bein' pretty bloody complicated from the start.'_

Long after Gray left, the other man's words echoed through Tom's head as he stared up at the ceiling, suffocated by the silence in the room. '"_Sit this hunt out, boy…before something bad happens."' _Bitterly Tom said aloud, "Something bad already happened." And then the doubt he had been battling fell upon him with crushing weight. '_Maybe Gray's right. Maybe I should let Quatermain and the league handle this. Maybe I'm the bad penny that the Fantom keeps cashing in on. Huck's death, the Fantom's escape at Gray's, my inability to catch Hyde, I've been pretty damn useless all in all.'_

Letting defeat wash over him, Tom drew his left hand to his face, covering his eyes. '_How many more people have to die because of me, because of my mistakes, because of my pride? Isn't it enough that Huck is dead? Do Quatermain and the rest of the league have to die too!' _

Swallowing hard at that thought, Tom swore that he would not let that happen, he would not lose more people he cared about…even if those same people thought of him as only a boy, a nuisance, a distraction. _'Huck was the only one who accepted me as I was, who didn't want to change me. No matter how foolishly I acted, he always stood by me.' _In grief and rage, Tom viciously swept his left arm across the nightstand, sending the whiskey bottle through the air to shatter on the floor.

'_I owe Huck, damn it! That's why I'm here, that's why I'll see this through, why I'll be standing over the Fantom when he takes his last breath._' Decisively he pushed down the blankets with his left hand and started to sit up. He never completed the task.

Crying out in pain, he collapsed back onto the bed, his left hand clutching his right shoulder, his eyes clamped shut, cursing the whims of cruel fate that left him so weak and consumed with agony. He didn't have the luxury of doubt or indecision or weakness, not when such an important task lay on his shoulders.

Rolling to his left, Tom swung his legs off the bed and determinedly used his left hand to levered himself to a seated position. Assaulted with a spinning room and lancing pain in his shoulder, he dropped his head to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut. Hoping to gain control over his body's reactions, he drew in deep breaths.

An undesirable distraction came in the form of a knock on his door. The last thing he wanted was more spectators to his weakness.

Without breaking from his stance, he retorted loud enough for his voice to penetrate through the door, "Visiting hours are over."

"It's Allan," came Quatermain's muffled voice.

Under his breath, Sawyer cursed. Anyone else he could have denied entry without an ounce of regret or shame but not Quatermain. He owed the man too much after last night. Still, Tom could not bring himself to voice his permission for Allan to enter. Having already butchered any chance of camaraderie with the renowned hunter, Sawyer feared that any future encounters between them would be awkward and indifferent. Now with his emotions so nearly exposed, he doubted he could maintain a pretext of aloofness to match Quatermain's.

At Sawyer's silence, Allan clenched his hands into fists and cursed his wicked temper. If only he hadn't stormed out of the boy's room half an hour ago! '_Did you expect the boy to welcome you back like a long lost friend! After you called him a fool and threatened to shoot him!'_

To be honest, Allan admitted that he had not planned on returning to Sawyer's side. It had taken the sight of Matilda lying on his bed to change his mind. Reverently he had picked up the gun and stroked its barrel like it was a well loved friend. Always the gun brought to mind the hunts he had been on or the game he had taken down. Sometimes he recalled the evil men he had felled with the gun. Not this time. This time, to his shock, he thought of the mere moments he had spent on the conning tower of this boat with a certain brash young man.

Unbidden, a smile had come to Allan's lips and suddenly something in him eased. He was being given a second chance to right his wrongs. He had failed Harry, he couldn't undo that but he could do better by Tom. He would protect the young man from the fate of Harry and from Sawyer's own stubborn, reckless ways. Quatermain swore with every ounce of his heart that he would not let Sawyer make the mistakes he had, that the young man would not wake up one day to find his soul tainted by the choices he had made in his life. Had Harry lived, that was the one lesson Allan had promised himself that his son would learn from his father.

Pulling from his reverie, Quatermain felt the tension and self anger drain from him. Sawyer needed him, whether the young man knew it or not. '_Just as I need him_,' shot through Allan with clarity. Resting his hand against the door, Quatermain gently implored, "Tom, please let me in."

Still battling dizzy spells as he sat on the edge of his bed clothed only in his pants, Tom wanted to delay the meeting until he could show some measure of strength. But Allan's gentle plea broke down his defenses. Straightening his posture, Tom relented, "Come in."

Without delay Allan entered the room, surprised to see Sawyer sitting up, though the young man looked ready to pass out. Tom's wary green eyes tracked his approach. Glass crunched under Quatermain's foot, causing his attention to swing to the floor where the shards of a bottle sparkled among a pooling liquid. Seeing the remnants of the label of the destroyed bottle, Allan looked up at Tom with a twinkle in his eye, "Wicked waste of good whiskey." This earned him a small embarrassed smirk from Sawyer.

"I know," Tom agreed with chagrin, knowing that Huck would agree with Quatermain's sentiments. When Allan crouched down to pick up the pieces of glass, protesting, Tom made to stand up, "No, I'll take care of that."

Immediately, Allan firmly laid his hand on Tom's leg, forestalling the other man's motion, "I got it. Just stay where you are." Pointedly he looked to Tom's stocking feet and teased, "Besides, you don't have any shoes on," before he again met Tom's gaze.

Finding Allan's good humor infectious, Tom replied with false accusation, "I guess I have you or Henry to thank for that." Struck with the implied ingratitude of his words and his accusatory tone, Tom solemnly offered, "Thank you." He pressed on, his eyes steadily meeting Quatermain's warm gaze, "For last night…and for this morning. For taking care of me when I was such a burden."

Allan nearly flinched at Tom's self chastising tone. "You weren't a burden," he refuted, his voice gruff with his dislike for even that thought to have entered the young agent's head. Seeing Tom's walls coming up again, Quatermain abandoned the task of cleaning up the floor and reclaimed the chair he had occupied throughout the night. Again wariness entered Sawyer's eyes and Allan knew he had to say the right things this time or risk losing Tom's trust forever. "I'm sorry for getting angry before, for calling you a fool and threatening to shoot you."

Stunned at the apology, Tom didn't quite know what to say. As it was, Allan continued without waiting for his response.

Allan met Sawyer's stunned look unflinchingly. "I've done a fair job of shutting out anyone who treads too closely." Here the hunter shied away from Tom's gaze, letting his eyes drop to his hands in his lap. Now that the time had come to open himself up, he faltered. Sternly he reminded himself '_You told Sawyer he has to trust someone, well trust works both ways. You know the rule: you have to risk something precious to get something priceless. And this young man's priceless, Quatermain. Don't you dare lose him like you did Harry!'  
_Like a reaction to a revelation, Allan's eyes shot up to Tom's pale face. "I care about you, Tom." Ignoring the shock registering in the younger man, Allan explained, "I know you're not my son and you're too old to need a father but…maybe because you fill a void Harry left in my heart, maybe because I'm turning into a softie in my old age…I can't help but feel protective of you." He raised a hand to forestall anything the stunned Sawyer would say, "I know, this isn't something you asked of me or wanted of me…but it wasn't something I planned. I was quite set on being cantankerous till the end of my days, not needing or wanting anyone's company. You changed all that."

Finally able to drew in enough breath to form words, Tom began "Allan.." Again Allan interjected.

"I'm not asking anything from you. I just wanted you to know that you can trust me and that I'm here for you if you want to talk." Before Tom could reject him and what he offered, Allan stood up and headed for the door, forgetting about the mess on the floor and abandoning the rest of the things he had swore he would tell the younger man.

"Allan, wait," Tom called, desperate to stop the older man's departure, fearing that loneliness would smother him if Quatermain walked out that door. To his relief, Allan stopped and turned around to face him. Vulnerability swamped Tom, showing visibly on his face and in his voice, "I've been a jerk from the start. I never should have pried into your relationship with your son. Then the way I treated you and Henry last night… I'm ashamed of myself and I can't for the life of me understand why you give a damn about me."

A chuckle escaped Allan as his twinkling eyes looked at Tom. "Because we are so bloody alike, boy. It's so obvious that I almost missed it myself. We have the same stubbornness, the same recklessness, the same quick tongue."

A matching sparkle entered Tom's eyes as he added, "We are made of the same coin, fighters both us," quoting Quatermain.

Smiling, Allan proclaimed, "I knew you'd see my point of view." Then he gave Tom's leg a pat, stood up and resumed his task of cleaning up the floor. "Best if I clean this up before Nemo sees it." Shooting Tom a smirk, he added, "The Captain runs a very tidy ship."

Smirking back, Tom felt his tension fade away. He wasn't alone in the world anymore.

TBC

I realize some would consider this to be the end of the story. My intentions are to write my take of Tom and Quatermain through the rest of the movie and a little beyond. Hope some of you decide to not "jump ship" now and will continue to follow this story as it progresses.

Replies to Reviews:

Claudette: Thank you for your wonderful support! And I believe that misunderstanding is a common life theme…I guess we should put into practice "say what you mean and mean what you say." Glad you thought the reactions of Tom and Allan were on the money last chapter! I'm hoping you'll stay with the story as it continues and let me know how I'm doing!

Ten Mara: I'm so sorry that I didn't reply to your encouraging email! I was just so disappointed in myself for being able to write the chapter that I didn't want to have to admit that I had not idea when I could post chapter 4. Well Tom and Allan had a talk this chapter but I'm hoping to delve deeper into their thoughts as the story progresses. Hope you continue to read this story because, remember, I'm very partial to Quatermain surviving this little adventure! Thanks again for your encouragement!

Sawyer Fan: Thanks for your wonderful compliments! I really appreciate that you are enjoying the father/son bonding because you are a great writer of that theme too! Hope you continue to read and review this story!

Julia: I LOVED your review! That kind of attachment and response to a story is the best compliment for a writer! And to call me now one of your favorite authors…I'm touched! When I write emotional/tense scenes I hope that I describe it well enough to let my readers see/feel what the characters do. You make me feel that I achieved that goal! Thank you!

Laura B: Thank you for your wonderful review!

Kingleby: I want to thank you for making me realize that I don't have to portray Tom as they did the in movie but could also use the personality as presented by Mark Twain. I'm always struggling to keep my characters true to "life". So very pleased that you enjoyed Allan's thoughts on Harry. What can I say, I'm a sap. Thanks again for your wonderful review!

LXGFanGirl: No need to apologize! Have you seen how many mistakes I made already in this story! We're focusing on emotions/creativity here and I'm not allowing points to be subtracting for form! Since you expressed an interest to see this story continue to the end of the movie, I'm hoping I continue to entice you to read the rest of the chapters in this story!

Tonianne: Thank you for your continued support! Hope you liked this chapter!

Alone Dreaming: First all, thank you so much for catching my error on infection! I've corrected in on the other chapters and have reposted them when I posted this one! I HATE when I see glaring errors after I post a story! Especially on 1 chapter stories where I can't go back and correct it without everyone thinking I added another chapter! I ate up your compliments about seeing the Tom/Allan interactions in your head! That is such an awesome thing for me to hear. I can't thank you enough for thinking I'm an "excellent writer"! You're one of a kind yourself!

Amanda Hope: You gave me a fantastic compliment when you said "you keep the relationships read and not something that would not happen in real life"! Thank you so very much for believing that to be true! I always hope to stay as realistic as possible but something that need for angst carries me out of bounds of reality. Thank you again for reviewing!

Again thank you to everyone who read this chapter! It's wonderful to be able to tell my stories to someone else besides myself.

Cheryl W.


	5. Chapter 5

Peace

By: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I don't own The League of the Extraordinary Gentlemen or anything in conjunction with LXG nor am I making a profit from this story. No copyright infringement is intended. Sadly, I do not own Tom Sawyer either.

Chapter 5

Allan, having cleared Sawyer's floor of glass and liquor, stood up and let his assessing gaze fall on Sawyer. The American, whose coloring was too pale for Allan's comfort, remained perched on the edge of his bed as if ready for motion, while his eyes watched his visitor with interest. Allan prompted lightly, "You have something on your mind?" easily reading the contemplation on the younger man's face.

Shaking off the last tendrils of the void, Tom had begun to put the pieces together from last night only to find they didn't complete the picture. Looking at the man he knew had the answers he sought, he pointedly asked, "How did you and Jekyll end up in my room last night?"

Having deemed _himself_ the inquisitor, Quatermain was stunned to find the tables turned as he met Sawyer's scrutinizing look. He hesitated, weighing his words. He didn't want the young man to misconstrue his actions, to think he was some …. '_Some overprotective father who broke down doors without provocation?' _ Quatermain jeered. '_You can tell him you care but you refuse to show him you care. You're a coward Quatermain_.'

Sawyer patiently watched the inner battle wage in Quatermain, knowing that, if Allan's reaction was any indication, this was an important, telling piece of the puzzle. A goading smile turned up Tom's lips. "I don't remember arranging a party in my room last night..course I did have a few shots of whiskey, mighta made me forget that detail."

Shooting a mocking glare at Tom, Allan gruffly announced, "You didn't show up for dinner," as if that was all the explanation required.

"Annnndddd?" Tom drawled out, cocky in his role of interrogator.

Pointing a finger at Sawyer, Allan warned, "Wipe that cocky smirk off of your face."

Doing as he was ordered, Tom allowed the smirk to vanish but he could not or would not dim the twinkling laughter in his eyes. "I'm hanging on your every word," he assured his voice disclosing it's brittle strength by turning slightly hoarse.

Giving Tom a look that said he was contemplating turning the spy over his knee, Allan crossed to the nightstand, filled a glass with water and handed it to Sawyer.

With a grateful nod, Tom instinctively reached for the glass with his right hand, instantly causing piercing pain to emanate from his shoulder. Crushing any reaction to his discomfort, he determinedly gripped the glass in his right hand and promptly drained the water.

When Tom began to lower his hand, Quatermain took hold of the top of the empty glass, stilling both the cup and Sawyer's hand from trembling. Immediately, Sawyer, dropping his look from Quatermain, relinquished his hold on the glass and pressed his hand back upon the mattress where it's trembling was undetectable.

Feeling as if he had somehow lost ground earning Tom's trust, Allan set the glass down on the nightstand with a decided thunk, startling Tom into looking at him. "You want to know why I sought you out last night. Why I didn't turn tail when you didn't answer your door." They weren't questions and they both knew it.

"Yes," Tom replied, ashamed and surprised at his need for the answer.

Wanting to be on equal ground with Sawyer, Allan again claimed his chair so that he and Tom were eyelevel. "You didn't come to dinner and I knew it was my fault." Grumbling he reiterated, "Even Skinner knew it was my fault."

Frowning, Tom questioned, "Your fault? Why?"

Meeting Tom's look head on, Allan elaborated, "I pushed you away on the tower.. after you asked about Harry."

With renewed shame, Tom shook his head, "You had every right to leave me high and dry. I should not have spoken about your son. It wasn't my place…I didn't have that right."

"No, I was wrong to react like I did. I was the one who started talking about my son, not you. I opened that door…then I slammed it ruthlessly in your face." Tom opened his mouth to further protest but Allan put up his hand, halting the younger man's reply. "You and I can argue this point all day long or you can simply accept my apology."

Smiling, Tom relented, "I'll accept your apology as long as you accept mine."

A snort escaped Quatermain. "So that's the way we are going to play? Alright, then I accept your apology."

"And I accept yours. Now we were at the part of the tale where you wrongly thought my absence at dinner was your fault…" Sawyer raised an eyebrow, prompting Quatermain to continue his story.

Sending Sawyer an exasperated look, Allan took up his narrative, "I came to your room to talk to you."

When Allan seemed content to end the story there, Tom prodded, "That doesn't tell me why you were "in" my room."

"Well, I knocked on your door and when you didn't answer I came in" Allan matter-of-factly replied, skipping the technique of "how" he had come into the room.

Finally they had gotten to the part of the story that had prompted Tom's pointed question in the first place. "My door was locked," he threw out, watching Quatermain barely restrain the impulse to squirm in his seat.

_'Blasted spy! Can't remember nearly dying but he can remember locking his door,'_ Allan silently ranted, his eyes searing unhappily into Sawyer's. There was little choice now but to tell the truth. "I had no idea you wanted the story blow by blow but I can arrange that. Thinking, incorrectly of course, that my ill manners had prompted your absence at dinner, I came to talk to you. I knocked on your door and when you didn't reply I tried to open the door. As you so keenly remember, you locked the door…for reasons I'm sure you won't mind telling me…" a sense of satisfaction trickled into Allan as he saw Tom's discomfort with that future topic of conversation. Pressing on Allan concluded, as if the memories didn't stir his emotions, "Sensing something was wrong, I kicked in your door and found you unconscious, bleeding profusely and plagued with a dangerously high fever."

Embarrassment colored Sawyer's pale cheeks as his vulnerabilities were stated. _'After that stellar display of weakness how am I ever going to gain Quatermain's respect let alone the rest of the league's!' _"Not my proudest moment," he bitterly announced.

Anger flared in Allan. The boy was missing the point! He had nearly died…to hell with his pride! What mattered to Allan and what should matter to Sawyer was his survival! Like a snake, Allan's hand shot out to grip Tom's chin, forcing the agent's eyes to meet his own. "Haven't you heard a bloody thing I've said? You almost died. Your decision to keep your wound a secret almost killed you," his voice just barely restrained.

That knowledge didn't garner the reaction in Sawyer that Quatermain expected. Instead, indifference hung over Sawyer and some other emotion Allan could not classify as anything but regret. Stunned, his hand slipped from Tom's face as he quietly probed, "But maybe that's want you wanted, maybe that's why you didn't tell me about your wound, why you locked your door last night, keeping us all out."

Lying was something Tom Sawyer did better than 99.9 of the population. It should have been easy for him to unleash a believable lie to Quatermain. But it wasn't. Allan had dared to open up to him, had admitted to caring about him, had offered him a safe harbor during the worst storm of his life. He could not repay such a gift with a deception. Holding Quatermain's gaze, Tom quietly admitted, "You're right. That was what I wanted…thought I wanted."

Though he had been fishing for that reply, Allan never expected to get it, for it to be the truth. His shock and disbelief were written on his every feature. Sawyer had a zest for life, for adventure, for justice. He could not be speaking the truth! But the rational part of Quatermain remembered all too well the looks he had read in the younger man's eyes. Looks of defeat, of despair, of surrender, of hopelessness. Allan managed to choke out one word, "Why?"

Dropping his head, Tom replied, his voice thick with emotions, "I…I can't talk about that, not now." Clutching the mattress under his balled up fists, he outlined his objectives, "First I need to get back on my feet then I'm going to bring down the Fantom."

Torn between wanting to be gentle with the vulnerable young man and feeling terrified by Tom's confession, Allan didn't know what to say or do. '_Say something! Do something! Don't let him teeter on the edge between shattering and jumping!' _Suddenly a name flew into his mind,"Who's Huck?"

Tom reacted like lightening had struck him, jolting his head up, his eyes wide as they focused on Quatermain with stunned disbelief. "Where did you hear that name?" he demanded, his voice gravelly with strain.

If Allan had any doubts that Sawyer's despair was connected to the name that he called out in his delirium, they now vanished. Gentling his voice, he answered, "You called out that name when you were delirious with fever."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Tom cursed his loose tongue! That same culprit, years ago, had almost told Sid and Aunt Polly about Injun Joe and the murder he had witnessed. Knowing he would have no future as a spy if he didn't eliminate that habit, he had worked long and hard to ensure his lips stayed locked while sleeping. Now all that hard work seemed to be in vain. He truly was turning out to be the most disappointing of spies.

For the third time within an hour, a knock sounded on Sawyer's door.

Snapping his eyes open, Tom instantly bade, "Come in," thanking God for the distraction. Discreetly he shot a look to Quatermain only to find his eyes clashing with Allan's frustrated gaze.

Neither occupant of the room spared a look to Tom's entering visitor until he spoke.

"By Jove, you're up!" Jekyll exclaimed, utterly surprised at the sight of an awake and sitting up Sawyer.

Pulling away from Quatermain's piercing gaze, Tom looked to Jekyll who now stood before him wearing a joyful smile. "If you call this being up," Tom retorted sullenly, discouraged by his weakness.

"Well last night we thought…I thought," Henry stammered to a stop, his eyes sliding to Quatermain as if testing the air between them.

Sawyer watched the exchange between the two men with curiosity. Apparently something disagreeable had transpired between the two British men during the night. He was cursing the addition of yet another missing piece of information when Henry refocused on him.

Having abandoned his original words at the disapproving look in Quatermain's eyes, Henry settled on offering Sawyer a compliment. "I guess you Americans are as hearty as you claim to be."

Jekyll's words brought a sardonic smile to Sawyer's lips, "I don't know about being hearty but we sure do hate to lose…at anything." Henry smiled in reply while Quatermain's scowl deepened, causing Tom to curse himself for caring what the old hunter thought of him or his actions.

Closing the distance between them, Jekyll's sharp eyes looked down upon Tom with inspection. "You're still too pale," he quietly stated. The next moment he put his hand on Sawyer's forehead. The young agent pulled back, startled.

Allan tensed at Tom's reaction, ready to pull the doctor away from Sawyer if he did anything else to further rattle the young man. _'He needs a gentle touch, Jekyll! Not a bull in a china store approach! Boy's on the edge. Can't you see that!'_

Choosing to ignore the spy's reaction to his touch, Henry compassionately relayed, "You still have a slight fever." Seeing no dispute in the younger man's eyes, Henry asked, hoping to get the truth instead of bravado from the Secret Service agent, "How's the pain?"

"Manageable," Tom replied evenly.

Unable to let that lie stand, Allan interjected with frustration, "In other words, it hurts like hell and he needs something for the pain," coming to stand beside Jekyll.

Tom swung his look to Quatermain. "Really?" he challenged with a false little smile. "You Brits apparently have a different definition for that word than I do."

Shrugging in answer, Allan gave as an explanation, "You yanks are always ruining our fine language."

Fearing that full fledged hostility might break out, Henry, facing Quatermain requested, "Allan could you go get Tom something to eat. Nothing heavy mind you. Toast and some tea maybe."

Allan wanted to deny the request out of hand, he would not leave Sawyer. Henry spoke before he could utter his protest.

"Eating will aid him in getting his strength back." Henry watched as Quatermain's protest morphed into acceptance. Relief flowed through the doctor. He knew Quatermain would not refuse to do anything that would benefit Sawyer's recovery. "I'll check Tom's wound and change the bandages while you're gone."

Nodding, Allan gave a quick look to Tom before he stalked out of the room, determined to do his task as quickly as humanly possible.

When the door shut behind Quatermain, Jekyll's glancing inspection of Sawyer turned sternly professional. "You should not be up. Your body has undergone …"

"I know, I was there when I got shot," Sawyer interrupted, annoyed to be the focus of yet another lecture.

Henry pursed his lips at the bristling American. "That's well and good but you did not have the ominous task of staunching the blood pouring from your wound, ridding your body of infection, and desperately trying to ensure that you would live last night."

Instead of quieting Sawyer's protests it enhanced them. Piercing Jekyll with a defiant glare, Sawyer shot back. "I didn't ask you to do any of that."

Only the pitiable sight of Sawyer kept Henry from snapping back at his cantankerous patient. He and Quatermain alone knew the terrible battle the young man had waged last night to survive. 'He deserves your compassion, not your censure,' Henry insisted to himself. Putting those thoughts into actions, Henry let his look soften, "I'm sorry Tom. I don't mean to lecture you."

Tom's shoulders slumped and he shook his head, "No….I'm the one who is sorry…again. Bet you've never had a more ungrateful patient than me," he quirked a sad smile turning up his lips as he looked up to Jekyll.

Jekyll gave a chuckle, "Well, you are quickly climbing to number one on that list."

"Americans like to be number one," Tom joked back, easing the tension in the room. "Thank you for last night and today, Henry. I'm just frustrated to be feeling so weak.." seeing Henry opening his mouth, Tom cut him off, "I know, it's natural and it's a miracle I'm alive and I should count my lucky stars."

"Guess that concludes my lecture," Henry quirked back. "Now let me see how that wound's healing and re-bandage it…before Quatermain returns and insists on supervising the whole procedure."

"Absolutely," Tom quickly agreed, sharing a smirk with Henry.

Quatermain made his way through the ship's corridors, his thoughts plagued with Tom's admission, 'You're right. That was what I wanted…thought I wanted.' The seasoned adventurer's steps faltered and his gut clenched in fear. '_To die…that's what he wanted.'_

Helplessness assaulted Allan. How could he be assured that Tom no longer sought death! That he would never again see that as a viable solution to his pain…whatever pain that was decimating his soul.

The answer was as simple as it was hard. He needed Tom to open up to him, fully. Then Allen had to have the wisdom to say the right things, the type of things that would ease the young man's pain forever. '_You're in over your head, Quatermain_!' he growled to himself. Being someone's confidant had never been his strong suit. '_Just ask Harry_.'

A curse escaped Quatermain at that dark thought. Maybe one of the others could get through to Sawyer. But as he ticked off the names of the members of the league he ruled out each and every one of them. Though he seemed oblivious to the fact, Quatermain knew Sawyer was not a boy but a man, a man that led a dangerous life, a life full of deceptions, mysteries and secrets, the life of a spy. The others may have extraordinary talents but they had not walked the edge of a knife like Sawyer…or like Quatermain had. No, Allan knew he had told Sawyer the truth, they were much alike. If Sawyer opened up to anyone it would be someone who had the same life experiences, who had been dealt the same cruel choices to achieve victory for their country …no matter the cost. '_If he opens up to anyone on this boat, it'll be you. You can't fail him, Quatermain. You're all he has.'_

That startling thought coiled around his heart. Since Harry's death he had avoided being responsible for anyone else's life. Then this whole Fantom fiasco had begun. But even then, he had refused to make the league members his responsibility. Figuring that they had bloody well gotten themselves wrapped up in the league they could therefore fend for themselves. Then Sawyer had come into the picture, like some hero, saving their lives, emanating boyish charm, naiveté and a pure, compassionate heart.

'The boy broke down my barriers like they were built of kindling. One moment I'm accepting a Winchester from him and the next I'm acting like he's my next of kin.' Instead of regret, satisfaction settled in Allan's heart at his thoughts. Tom was more than worthy of his affections.

Having reached his destination, Allan entered the galley with resolve in his eyes. _'I'm going to make sure that Sawyer stays safe, even from himself, no matter what I have to risk because he's worth it…just like Harry was.'_

_TBC_

Replies to Reviews:

Julia: I really appreciate your strong support of me and my story! Sorry that I'm making you wait for that 'Tom tells Allan about Huck' conversation. I guess I'm trying to establish a bond of trust between the two men before Tom fully lets down his guard and discusses that sensitive subject. Thanks again for your wonderful review!

Alone Dreaming: Your long reviews are definitely part of your charm! I love hearing your thoughts no matter how short or long they may be. I am overwhelmed by your compliments and loyalty to my stories! For so many years I wrote in seclusion, hoping I was a half decent writer but never knowing for sure. It's been such a wonderful experience sharing my stories…especially with someone as supportive as you! As for correcting the mistakes, I've learned so much from helpful reviewers. Each one has made me a better writer…even if I'm sometimes stung by their words. As for your comments on last chapter, I was totally surprised by your compliment on my portrayal of Dorian! I didn't know I 'could' write him but I also felt as you did that he would have interacted with Sawyer. To me Sawyer was a liability to their plans… mavericks always are. And you are right, Sawyer and Quatermain are much alike and need each other! Thanks again for your fantastic compliments.

Claudette: So glad I've got you hooked on the story! And I too wish that Quatermain would have entered Tom's room while Dorian was there! I didn't take that path because I wanted to try and stay true to the movie where Dorian's darker side is pretty well hidden. But Quatermain does seem to doubt the villain is Skinner…maybe I do have a little room to write some Quatermain/Dorian conflict after all. Thanks for your awesome review and suggestions on plots!

Kingleby: Glad you enjoyed my Dorian/Tom scene! I just thought Dorian would like to see Sawyer out of the way of their plots..he seems to be a fly in the ointment. And I'm hoping you'll like my take/retake on the movie's ending. At this point I don't have the ending written yet but I basically know what's going to happen. Thanks for your terrific review!

Stacee Phelps: I'm totally honored that you've started to read this story! And I know, the obsession for LXG and Tom kinda sneak up on you! One minute I'm simply drooling over him in the movie and loving the father/son thing going on and the next I'm reading and writing fanfiction for it. So glad you enjoyed last chapter! Thanks for your wonderful support …no mater what crazy obsession I'm hooked on.

Sabrina: Well, you were the one reader I "knew" wouldn't jump ship because you know how I'm going to revise the end of the movie! On one hand, I can't wait to write the ending and on the other hand I'm just loving let things play out between Tom and Allan. Hope you feel the same way because this story has awhile to go yet. Thanks so much for your wonderful review and support!

Laura B: Thank you so much your wonderful review! Hope you enjoy this chapter as well.

LXGFanGirl: Your enthusiastic support is totally wonderful! As for whiskey..I don't drink so I'll take your word that it tastes nasty. Now if Coca-Cola was spilled…that's a wicked waste to me. Glad you're going to continue reading the story as it progresses!

Tonianne: Thank you for your compliments! Hope you let me know what you think of this chapter!

KidBlink182: I'm blushing over your compliments! I'm really happy that you are enjoying the story and my portrayal of the characters seems on the money! I'll try to work in more of Skinner for you…definitely near the end of the story he'll be more "visible". (sorry couldn't resist the pun) Ok after that I'm running off and hiding! Thanks so much for your support!

Sawyer Fan: I was hoping you would appreciate Allan's confession! I know you are like me and feed off of the tender connection between Allan and Tom. Thanks so much your wonderful compliments and support! Reviews like yours keep me writing!

Amanda Hope: I'm so pleased that you enjoyed last chapter! It sure was a struggle to write! Glad you feel I'm using my talent wisely and honing it. I can't express how wonderful it is to be able to share my stories and get such wonderful compliments like yours! It put joy in my heart that I don't think I'ld get even if I was a best selling novelist! It's so great getting to know people personally who read and enjoy my stories. Thanks for taking the time to review.

Ten Mara: Well, I got the father/son relationship I little further along in this chapter but not as far as I had hoped. I didn't want to rush things and I was also starting to spin my wheels so I had to just end the chapter where I did. Hope it's still a satisfying chapter to read! I too would like to reveal to Quatermain Dorian's visit to Tom. Maybe after the cats out of the bag…hmmm I'll have to work on that. Thanks so much for your compliments, enthusiasm and suggestions!

Well, I'll stop rambling and sign off now.

Thanks to everyone who read this chapter!

'Till next time

Cheryl W.


	6. Chapter 6

Peace

By: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I don't own The League of the Extraordinary Gentlemen or anything in conjunction with LXG nor am I making a profit from this story. No copyright infringement is intended. Sadly, I do not own Tom Sawyer either.

Chapter 6

If Captain Nemo had been a less patient man he would have abandoned his efforts to engage in conversation with Allan Quatermain half an hour ago. Trying for the second time to wrestle the adventurer from his own thoughts, Nemo repeated with more insistence, "Quatermain?"

With a start, Allan turned to his present companion, almost as if he was only now aware of the other's existence. "What were you saying Nemo?" his tone implying that is was actually his patience being tested.

Instead of resenting the other's audacity, Nemo, discarding his study of the da Vinci blueprints of Venice, sat back in his chair and scrutinized his guest. "You can not change the past, control the present or predict the future. It is madness to try."

'_Another insightful bugger! Just want I need_,' Allan sourly thought. "So I am to go merrily along with the whims of fate. Then why are we even bothering to chase this Fantom?" Surging from his chair, Quatermain began to pace the small length of the Nautilus's library. "According to you, our hands are tied by some predestination, the outcome is sure."

Nemo's words were calm, measured as his eyes tracked the other man. "I said we could not _control_ the present, _predict_ the future…that does not mean we can not _affect_ the present or _change_ the future. You, however, desire certainties, assurances. There are none in this life. You and I both know that only too well."

"Oh yes, too well," bitterness resonated from Quatermain's few words.

But Nemo detected another emotion lurking in Quatermain's tone. Worry. "How is he?" he asked quietly, causing Allan's eyes to fly up to meet his own.

Allan almost pretended ignorance to Nemo's inquiry. The captain's knowing gaze halted his attempt at deception. "Sleeping," the hunter bit out like he resented the cheekiness of Sawyer's action. "Jekyll re-bandaged his shoulder, gave him something for the pain and he's been asleep ever since." Allan vividly recalled returning to the room that morning, tray of food balanced in his hands, only to find Sawyer sound asleep. The first sensation that had hit him was fear and it must have been palpable for immediately Jekyll had surged from his chair, reassuring him that all was well, that it was natural for sleep to have overcome Sawyer without much warning. Soon after Jekyll had left, Allan bestowed a feather light caress on Sawyer's wayward locks of blond hair then he too left the young man to sleep in solitude.

"He's a remarkable young man," Nemo stated with admiration, hoping to bait the adventurer into deeper waters.

Nemo's words brought Quatermain back to the present and sent pride swelling in the hunter's heart. "Yes, yes he is," Allan agreed quietly. Sighing, he reclaimed his seat.With measured words, Nemo revealed his inner thoughts, "He does not seem so young…when you look in his eyes. He too has been haunted by ghosts from his past."

Surprised at Nemo's statement, Allan began to wonder if insight was the only tool the captain had at his disposal to make such an accurate assessment of Sawyer. Sawyer's first words on the conning tower came back to him, '_Nemo told me that you hate the British Empire._' Quatermain broke the silence that had fallen. "You and Sawyer spent some time talking," his tone half accusatory half questioning.

Feeling that rough waters might lie ahead, Nemo kept his answer precise, "He asked me why each of us had joined the league. I told him what I knew."

"Regardless if it was hearsay," a sharp edge colored the hunter's words to match his glittering gaze.

Uncharacteristically, Nemo shrugged his shoulders. "He prompted me to tell him all I knew whether it was hearsay, logical deductions or truth. Since you had accepted him into our league, I did not see the harm in trusting him."

The Captain's words echoed back to Allan like a reproof. "I trust him," he insisted heatedly. "The point is you were gossiping like women in a quilting bee."

Dropping his relaxed pose, Nemo leaned forward, his eyes piercing Quatermain's. "Did I lie when I said you hated the British Empire? Did I lie when I said you were once one of its loyalist sons? If I spoke falsely, I will apologize."

With ill concealed anger Allan conceded, "No, you didn't lie, not about that."

Refusing to let Allan slink out of the corner he had been maneuvered into, Nemo pressed, "But that was not the image of yourself that you wanted to present to Sawyer, was it? It was not heroic or fanatically patriotic or impervious to the cruelties in this world."

Allan's eyes narrowed dangerously. He knew where Nemo was sketching his perfect image. "Those bloody stories about me are more fables than facts," he growled.

Raising an eyebrow, Nemo drawled, "Still, false or true, the image depicted is one every man would like to be."

Dropping his eyes to the wooden table, Allan rubbed his fingers of his right hand over a rough section of the wood. When he spoke, regret hued his words, "No man can live up to that standard, not for himself..or for those he loves. It's impossible."

"Perfection always is," Nemo replied matter-of-factly as Allan's eyes came up to meet his. "All humans are fallible…that is what keeps us humble."

Allan could not fight the smile that began to turn up his lips. "Oh then I should be very humble."

A matching mischievous smile came upon Nemo's lips, "As should I be."

"Maybe you are right," Allan sighed, "maybe I didn't want Sawyer's "hero worship" to be replaced by disappointment and disgust…not so soon anyway."  
"Agent Sawyer is a man of the world, a man of _your_ dangerous world. I do not think he believes in heroes but instead he respects men of honor, valor and compassion. Men such as you," Nemo pointedly said.

Quatermain snorted derogatorily, "I have not been those things for a very long time."

"Can I join you?" came Sawyer's quiet voice from the doorway, causing hunter and captain to swing their gazes to their newest arrival.

"It's good to see you up and about," Captain Nemo greeted, a smile evident beneath his mustache and beard as he watched the younger man enter the room with a casual stroll.

"It's good to be up and about," Tom replied, letting a small smile escape while trying to ignore the censorious look Quatermain was bestowing on him. Stopping in front of the table the two men surrounded, he quirked up an eyebrow to Nemo, requesting again if his presence was welcome.

Shooting a look of collaboration to Quatermain, Nemo found he could not snag the adventure's hot glare from Sawyer. So he made the decision on his own, "Please join us," he invited, indicating the chair beside Quatermain.

Nodding his thanks, Tom pulled out the chair and flung his frame into the seat, his motions as fluent as he could make them. Boldly he turned his steady gaze to Quatermain, daring the older man to protest his ability to be out of bed and take part in their preparations for the next day.

Anger, frustration, worry and resignation warred in Quatermain as it had since the second he had heard Tom's voice and saw the still pale young man standing in the doorway. The fool should not be out of bed, let alone walking nearly the length of the boat. However, the set look in Sawyer's eyes had warned Allan that nothing would sway the agent's resolve to be "up and about" as Nemo had so congenially said.

Inspecting the American like he would a stranger who dared intrude upon their meeting, Allan noted the paleness of Sawyer's face, the dark bruises under his eyes and the holster and guns strapped once again to the agent's lithe torso. Allan's scowl of displeasure deepened. The shoulder strap of the holster lay directly upon Sawyer's bullet wound, no doubt aggravating the wound and increasing the agent's pain. Meaningfully looking to Sawyer's guns, Allan raised his eyebrow, "Expecting trouble…here under the ocean," he scoffed.

A cocky smile sprang onto Sawyer's face. "I believe in always being prepared 'cause you never know when the natives may get restless." He leaned over closer to Quatermain and dropped his voice mockingly lower, "Thought that would be your motto too….having lived a time in Africa."

"Now you listen here.." Allan began heatedly, his eyes boring into Sawyer's goading gaze.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Nemo interrupted, "we can not waste time bickering among ourselves if we wish to foil the Fantom's plans." Suddenly he was nearly taken aback by the fierce almost identical glares that lanced into him. He had garnered his fellow league member's attention, now the question was how to harness that attention. Pointing emphatically to the da Vinci blueprints on the table he insisted, "The Fantom took those plans of Venice for a reason. We must discover that reason…before it's too late." Suddenly the two men before him morphed into the professionals they were, letting personal matters vanish and combining their formidable knowledge with his own.

Within the hour, Quatermain, Sawyer and Nemo had narrowed down their theories but before they could formulate a plan of action for the morrow, Jekyll had appeared in the doorway, bearing more dreadful news. One of his vials had gone missing and he had laid an unrelenting accusation upon Skinner.

"Are you sure it was Skinner?" Allan's question to Henry superseding the incredulous retort Tom was about to utter.

For some inexplicable reason, Tom not only liked Skinner but placed some grain of trust into his care. No, Skinner was not Tom's first suspect…his first suspect had paid him a visit this morning and kindly ransacked his possessions while he lay there too weak and in pain to hinder him.

Henry's reply was more personal contempt than fact. "Who else? You've seen how the sneaky blackguard works."

Apparently that statement was all the proof Nemo required to issue a man hunt for the invisible man upon the vessel. So it was that Nemo and Jekyll left, intent upon their witch hunt, leaving Quatermain and Sawyer to exchange a shared look. Having been participants in the throes of deep deceptions too often, neither man was willing to claim Skinner the villain yet. Not when the facts were sadly lacking and each man's gut instincts was denying that claim.

"What happened to not bickering among ourselves," Allan growled, frustrated at the divide in the league. '_Like I need another bloody problem on my hands like a traitor._'

"See, the natives did get restless," Sawyer commented, a cocky smile lighting up his face, relishing Quatermain's reaction.

Shooting Sawyer a warning glare, Quatermain ignored his companion's comment and continued on his own line of thought, muttering "That's the problem with working with bloody amateurs."

This earned a snort of laughter from Sawyer. "Guess we already know our plan for tomorrow. We'll wing it"

"Wing it! What does that mean?" Quatermain shot back, gruffly.

"Make it up as we go," Tom said, slowly, enunciating each word as if he were speaking to someone's whose grasp of the English language was vague at best. "You know, search for the bombs, find them, defuse them."

"And you know how to defuse bombs?" Allan shot back, disbelief in his tone.

Tom gave a smug smile, "Yea. Don't you?" before he walked out of the library. Without warning, Quatermain's hand snaked around his right forearm. Finding his forward motion halted, Tom met the hunter's eyes with a questioning look.

All traces of affable banter were gone from Quatermain's brown intense eyes as he stated, "We have to talk."

Tom's stomach clenched. He knew the topic the older man wanted to discuss. '_Why'd I have to be honest with Quatermain! A lie wouldn't have him looking at me with …was that look disgust, pity or concern?' _"I think we better make sure Nemo and Jekyll don't turn their hunting parties into lynching mobs."

Tightening his grip on Sawyer's arm as if he feared the younger man would bolt, Quatermain refuted, "I'm betting Skinner can slip out of any noose invented. Come on," and he began to walk down the corridor, his grip forcing Sawyer into motion.

"I do know how to walk so you can let me go," Tom demanded sharply, trying to disengage his arm from Quatermain's hold and ignore his shoulder's protest at the struggle. When his comment didn't gain his release or even eye contact from Quatermain, he drolly added, "I'm not likely to turn invisible and slip away."

Without notice, Allan turned a corner, causing Sawyer to almost trip as he too looped sharply to the right. A hiss of pain escaped him as his shoulder objected to his ungainliness and the strain Allan's grip put on his arm and consequently his shoulder.

Tom's hiss of pain was like a knife in Allan's heart. Instantly he dropped his grip on the agent's arm, cursing himself for heaping additional pain on the wounded man. "I'm sorry, Tom. I …I didn't mean to hurt you," he stammered as he came to a stop at Sawyer's side, watching the pain flicker in the other's eyes.

Absently clutching his right forearm with his left hand to stabilize the arm's motion, Tom downplayed his pain as he saw the guilt in Quatermain's eyes. "I'm OK. My arm is just a little stiff."

Allan did not offer opposition to Tom's reply but instead racked his memory of the layout of the Nautilus, seeking a close room that offered Sawyer a much needed seat and would give them some privacy. Remembering that a room just down the corridor contained the ship's attempt at a garden, something Nemo had called a "hydroponics" room, Allan turned worried eyes upon Sawyer, not missing the way the young agent tightly braced his right arm against his chest. "The garden's just a few doors down. We can talk in there."

"Garden?" Sawyer scoffed even as he began walking down the corridor, Allan hovering at his side. "Can't have a garden on a boat, Quatermain?" he scoffed.

"Tell that to Nemo," the adventurer quipped back, as he stepped a few paces ahead of Sawyer and opened a door to the right.

Entering the room, Sawyer was astonished to be surrounded by plants and the poignant smell of the flowers that sat in trays on the floor. "How does he keep things growing?"

"How does this boat cut through the water faster than any other boat in history?" Allan's voice spoke from directly behind Sawyer. A moment later the door clicked shut behind him. The adventurer came to stand at his side and took in the sight of the gardens for the second time, "Man's an enigma and so are his toys."

"I like his toys, 'specially the automobile," Sawyer admired, a eager look in his eyes.

"I should have known you'd know what that contraption was," Allan retorted, putting a guiding hand on Sawyer's back. "There are a few chairs ahead on this path."

Without further prompting, Tom walked down the path rowed by plants that reached above his head and trays of flowers. Turning the corner, he saw the chairs that Quatermain had alluded to. He claimed a chair, too sorely sick of the pain to protest his need for the respite.

Quatermain claimed the chair across from him, letting the few feet between them give Sawyer the space to work through the pain. _'Pain you caused him!'_ he rebuked himself.

Forcing himself to release his death grip on his right arm, Tom met Quatermain's look head on, readying himself for the conversation to come. _'You opened your big mouth now you have to deal with the consequences,'_ he bitterly told himself. When the older man appeared content to let the silence choke Sawyer, Tom brusquely declared, "If you're afraid I'll step in front of a bullet, I won't. I was down last night but I'm not going to throw my life away. I have promises to keep."

"To your country…or to Huck?" Allan quietly asked his look boring into Sawyer, hating himself for pressuring the younger man on a subject that clearly was painful.

Cursing both his decision to lower his barriers and Allan's perceptiveness, the Secret Service agent stewed internally, '_how does he back me into a corner again and again!_' Uncertain what he could say in return, Sawyer opted for a stony silence as he kept his eyes unflinchingly on Quatermain.

Leaning forward to etch his searching gaze into Sawyer, Allan spoke from harsh experience, "Some promises can't be kept and some shouldn't be kept."

"And who decides which promises to keep or which ones not to? You?" Tom acidly demanded.

Gentleness entered Allan's eyes as he shook his head slightly. "No," lightly he tapped two fingers upon Tom's left chest where his heart lied underneath, "this does," and then his fingers moved to tap Tom's left temple, "and this does."

"Lucky for me they are in agreement on this promise," Tom said, his resolve glittering in his eyes.

"You sure?" Silence fell a moment. Realizing that he had no choice but to press the issue, Allan continued, "If I had a promise I was planning on fulfilling, I wouldn't have tried to 'throw my life away'…like you did last night."

Tom surged from the chair with an expletive. "I wasn't trying to throw my life away! I just wanted…" he broke off and clenched his jaw tightly. _'No. I wouldn't say too much, not again, no matter how he tries to manipulate me!'_

"Wanted what?" Allan's eyes fixed on Sawyer.

Some instinct in Tom yelled at him for a retreat. Trained to obey such commands, he started back down the path through the garden before he had consciously made the decision to leave Quatermain.

Stunned at Sawyer's flight, Quatermain stood and called after the younger man, "Getting the Fantom is personal for you, isn't it?"

The words halted Tom's retreat. Without turning around he challenged, "Just like it's personal for you." He heard Allan's approach but remained still as the adventurer came to stand in front of him.

Seeing an opportunity to break down some of Sawyer's barriers, Allan offered, "I'll tell you my reason if you tell me yours." But by the steel in the American's eyes, he knew his offer had been denied before his last word was uttered.

"Sorry but not knowing your reason isn't going to keep me up at night," Tom drawled, making to go around Quatermain but the adventurer boldly blocked his path.

"Fair enough. Seems we're at an impasse." Frustration and sorrow etched onto Quatermain's features. He had been right, he wasn't the type of person one confided in.

Detecting the dejected feelings settling on Quatermain, Tom soothingly declared, "Some things are out of bounds for us."

"Like Huck," Quatermain supplied with quiet accusation as his eyes seared into Sawyer's.

"Like Harry," Tom countered with matching accusation, daring Quatermain to deny that truth.

Neither man offered up protests in the silent stare down that followed.

Then, with conviction Allan ventured, "Maybe they shouldn't be."

Finding to his surprise that he desperately wanted to ease some of the sorrow in Quatermain, Tom offered, "Maybe they won't be forever…"

Silently Quatermain completed the end of Sawyer's sentence '_but they are right now.' _With regret Allan retreated from that verbal battle and concentrated on achieving a victory he sorely needed for his own peace of mind._ "_Make me a promise then."

Wariness entered Tom's look and he hedged, "I'm kinda full up on promises."

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself, that you won't recklessly risk your life to keep some promise," Allan implored, needing some assurances from the young man he had come to care about.

Tom's heart jolted to a stop at Allan's words, "_promise me you'll take care of yourself._' Huck had asked for that promise…with his dying breath. '_That's the promise Huck made me swear to. He hadn't asked me to get the Fantom, to stick a knife deep into his gut and watch him die as I had watched Huck die. But he would have, had he had the time, the breath. He would have wanted me to avenge his death." _Justice, wasn't that the thing everyone wanted …even if it were the last thing they wanted for themselves in this life! Certainly that had been the understood promise between he and Huck, the promise that, if one of their lives had been taken in the line of duty, the other would get justice for them.

Allan watched Tom's eyes flicker with a myriad of emotionsthat he could not categorize. His heart clenched at the emotion that settled firmly on the younger man's face: bitter blinding resolve.

"Sorry that's one promise I can't make," Tom replied unwaveringly. "I'll risk everything, do anything to fulfill the vow I've made." His eyes bore threateningly into Allan's. "Don't try and stop me and don't stand in my way," he ordered lowly, suddenly revealing to Quatermain the hardened man that had tracked, captured and killed criminals in the pursuit of justice. Then Sawyer sidestepped the stunned older man and casually walked out of the garden.

Something in Allan turned cold with dread and worry. He had seen that look in Sawyer's eyes before…in the mirror. '_And that's just before everything usually goes sour …and then progressively gets worse.' _The adventurer's shoulders slumped under the strain. Not only did he have to save Venice from annihilation, and prevent the outbreak of a world war, now he had to safeguard the soul and life of a Secret Service spy that meant entirely too much to him.

"I should have stayed in Africa and let the rest of the world sort out this bloody mess," he growled, walking from the 'serenity' of the garden, already focused on the tasks that awaited him on the morrow.

TBC

Replies to Reviews:

Kingleby: So glad you liked the conversations between Allan and Tom as well as the depth I'm striving to give Tom. I just think he's as tortured in soul as Quatermain. Which of course makes them the perfect father/son. Thanks for your fantastic review.

Claudette: I loved when you told Quatermain to "get yourself in hand man"! The reason you're confused is Tom's suicidal tendencies weren't very defined from the start because I was uncertain of the direction the story would take. I'm very pleased that you enjoy the traits I'm bringing out in my main characters! Thanks so much for the wonderful review.

Sawyer Fan: Happy to hear that you liked the conversation between Tom and Allan. It sure is fun to envision that scene! Thanks for your much appreciated support.

StriderX: Thanks so much for your flattering review! I so love hearing that people enjoy following the intricate emotions between characters. As for your question..Yes, this story will go to the end of the movie and a little beyond. Hope you'll drop me a line again and tell me your thoughts!

Julia/Anonymous: Thanks so much for your input and support..even when I am making you wait longer than you can bear for some upcoming events in the story! I was really pleased that you enjoyed he conversations in the chapter..I'm always afraid I'm boring my readers to death with such tactics. As for writing a bad chapter…I've reread my own stories enough to know I've written some pretty cheesy stuff that makes me blush in shame. At least most of those stories I never shared with the world! Thank you again for your wonderful words of support and encouragement!

Laura B: Thanks for your continuing support for this story! Yes, it is nice to see the spark come back into Tom's eyes…even I missed it.

Alone Dreaming: I really am touched by your efforts to drop me your wonderful review! I know sometimes the old internet is against us all! Thanks for the insight on the stability or lack thereof of suicidal persons. I eat up all the knowledge I get like that! And you're right, with Quatermain's sharp eye on him, Tom wouldn't have a chance to slip back into depression and do something 'stupid'. As for your request for Hyde…I'm a little hesitate to tackle that character. However, since Hyde seems pretty prominent in the second half of the movie, it seems like a perfect opportunity for me to try my hand at his character and hopefully give you what you want. I'm not promising a lot of Hyde but I'll try to sneak him in. Glad my crazy dialogue made you laugh…when it was suppose to of course! You gave me a wonderful compliment when you commented on my writing style/grammar. Lacking a college education, I really struggle to remember my old grammar lessons! Thanks again for such a wonderful review!

Ten Mara: Thank you for your great review! And I just had to let Tom know that Allan had kicked in his door, it represented so much more than words could say. As for the continuing closeness between Tom and Allan…well I hope this chapter showed the delicate balance of their relationship. As for which "version" of the scenes I'm going to reflect in this story, I'm sticking with (as you can tell in this chapter) with the Movie house version. I loved seeing the deleted scenes but they revealed too much that I have worked really hard to conceal namely Huck, his fate and his friendship with Tom. Hope you don't mind the track I'm taking with my story. Love to hear your thoughts on this chapter.

Thanks to everyone who took the time to read this chapter!

Cheryl W.


	7. Chapter 7

Peace

By: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I don't own The League of the Extraordinary Gentlemen or anything in conjunction with LXG nor am I making a profit from this story. No copyright infringement is intended. Sadly, I do not own Tom Sawyer either.

Author's Note: Sorry about the horrible delay in posting this chapter! Intermingling my story with the existing movie scenes turned out to be a hard task for me.

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Chapter 7

"Can't tell morning from night on this canoe," Tom groused as he staggered from his bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes and trying hard to ignore his shoulder's protests. As he came to stand before the vanity, he winced at his appearance. His hair was in disarray, his jaw was sporting the beginnings of a beard, his face was pale, his eyes bloodshot and the dark bruises under his eyes had yet to lighten. 'Injun Joe looked better dead than I do right now.' That comparison caught him off guard, dredging up more memories than he cared to remember..like his own time trapped in that cave…not knowing when day came…when night came.

Suddenly the Nautilus began to feel like that cave, it's interior an abyss untouched by sunlight, suffocating him, trapping him, making him despair that he would ever effect an escape. Clamping his eyes shut, he leaned against the vanity. '_Keep it together, Sawyer! This is no time for one of your panic spells!_' With willpower and deep breaths, he forced down his rising anxiety. Being trapped in the cave with Becky had taught him that he couldn't afford to lose hope, not when someone else's well being rested on him.

'_Like now_,' he rebuked himself. '_Huck's counting on you to stop the Fantom. And so is Allan, the league, your country, heck, the world. There's no more time for your self pity!' _With new fortitude, Tom stood up, gave a stern glare to his reflection and began to dress for the day. He would not dwell any longer on woulda, coulda, shouldas. Having never known his father and losing his mother when he was only seven, he rebuked himself that he, of all people, should know the futility of hindsight and wishes. Forward was the only viable direction he could take. Forward to this afternoon, to the moment when Venice would be saved and the Fantom would die.

Tightly strapping on his gun holster, he relished the pain it caused his shoulder. Pain was something real, something he didn't have to think about, sort out or distrust. Pain never lied or had a hidden agenda. It simply was what it was. Crossing to the table where Gray had carelessly dumped out the contents of his travel bag, Tom picked up the boxes of ammo, placing them in his pockets.

His chest tightened as his eyes fell upon his Secret Service badge. Reverently he stroked his fingers over the silver star. For the most part Dorian had been right, he owned nothing precious….except the badge. To Sawyer the badge represented what he believed in, what he _wanted_ to believe in and everything he wanted to be. Reluctantly he withdrew his touch from the embossed silver star. He was AWOL, an agent who had slipped from his tethers, an operative seeking his own agenda, determined to unleash his own brand of justice for his best friend's death.

Vividly, Tom remembered waking in the London hospital after his surgery, instantly knowing that something precious had been lost to him, something that could not be recaptured or replaced. Before he could fully come to terms with accepting the horrible truth that Huckleberry Finn was dead, that it hadn't been some bad dream, a senior secret service agent entered his hospital room and, without bothering on pleasantries, told him in terms too plain to be misunderstood that he was no longer on the Fantom assignment. Coldly the superior agent had given him his new orders: heal up, head home and give a detailed report about the death of Special Agent Huckleberry Finn to his immediate superior.

In direct violation to those orders, Special Agent Thomas Sawyer crawled out of the hospital that same afternoon and contacted a fellow field agent in London hoping the agent had another good tip to the Fantom's possible location. To Tom's frustration the other agent declared that the Fantom had vanished without a trace. It was only with a stroke of good luck that the field agent had offhandedly mentioned the strange happening that would occur the next day: the arrival of one Allan Quatermain, adventurer, hunter, sometimes British spy. Deducing that only a risk at the national level would entice the retired spy from Africa and back into service for her majesty's government, Sawyer had stood beside a crate of fish on the wharf and watched Quatermain disembark from the boat. Following the adventurer, Tom found himself on Tottenham Court Road watching as the British spy was greeted by a man on the steps of the Albion museum and escorted inside. Sooner than he thought possible, Sawyer's instincts had been proven to be right on the money. Quatermain's path soon crossed with the Fantom's.

It seemed impossible that so much had occurred in so few days. Now Special Agent Thomas Sawyer of the Secret Service found himself cutting through the ocean, heading for Venice, praying to save the city and bring death to the Fantom. His rebellion, however, had its repercussions. It would be a miracle if he still was among the numbers of the secret service agency after his blatant disregard for orders. Even if he achieved his goal, if the Fantom was killed and world peace safeguarded yet again, there was no reassurances that a medal would await him at home instead of a pink slip. The Bureau took a hard edge to rules…just ask Director Hazen, who had been fired because he assigned men to protect Presidents Cleveland and McKinley without orders. A duty that, a few months after Hazen's departure, became the Secret Service's prime objective.

'_I wouldn't change what I did_,' Tom knew in his heart. '_This chance to catch the Fantom, to stop his schemes is worth any consequences._' With that conviction running through his soul, Tom headed out of the room, intent on joining the league for breakfast. Last night he had been a no show for dinner, preferring to take his meal in his room and crawl into bed as soon as possible, without anybody marking his weakness. Starting today, he swore that he wasn't going to hide anymore.

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Allan's obsession with the door of the dining room could have been humorous had it not the markings of worry and regret. Though Nemo, Dorian, Henry and Mina took notice of the hunter's distraction, none mentioned it as they silently consumed their breakfast, the two empty chairs at the table speaking loudly enough in the void. When Nemo's servants opened the door and Tom Sawyer strode into the room like it was simply another mess time in the barracks, Quatermain quickly averted his eyes, taking up a fascination with the now cold eggs on his plate, hoping that no one saw the relief flickering in his eyes.

Exuding brash confidence that typified the American façade, Sawyer claimed the chair to Quatermain's right. It never occurred to him to choose the chair to Dorian's left. Before he could reach for any of the food dishes on the table, Nemo's servants brought each and every dish to him, spooning generous portions onto his plate. With his polite country upbringing, he took the time to thank every servant as they performed their duty.

Then, setting to the task of eating, Tom was surprised to find the league members quiet, their attention fully fixed upon him. Suddenly he wished for Skinner's presence. The invisible thief had a wry wit, scathing tongue and rarely shut up. '_Now I'm wishing for the company of a traitor!' _Quickly he corrected himself_, 'Accused traitor, Sawyer. Nothing's clear cut with this caper.'_

It was Mina's cultured voice that broke the silence. "Are you feeling better, Agent Sawyer?" her concerned eyes met his across the table.

"Call me Tom. And yes, I am. Thank you," Tom replied simply, without displaying the boisterous charm he usually unleashed for the beautiful widow.

Mina smiled slightly. "We are all relieved," but something in her reply seemed lackluster, hinting at a spike of disappointment at the absence of the young man's usual flirtations.

Focusing again upon the food on his plate, Tom almost sighed when the unwelcome voice of Dorian interrupted his meal.

"Can we assume your _improving_ health and your presence here indicates that you intend to _attempt_ to help us foil the Fantom's plans for Venice?" the immortal's true question and insinuation very clear to the American spy.

Draining his coffee cup, Sawyer gave a cocky smile to Dorian. "Sorry, I'm gonna have to ignore your earlier advice Dorian. But your concern for my health is very touching."

Scowling for an instant before his mask of boredom righted itself, Dorain concurred sarcastically, "Oh to be sure, I am very concerned."

When the immortal leaned forward in his chair and pierced the American with his dark gaze, Sawyer knew an act of retaliation was in the works.

With his most falsely sincere tone, Dorian drawled, "Strangely enough one question kept me awake last night, Special Agent Sawyer."

Since his verbal sparing match with the immortal had earned the rapt attention of the other league members, Sawyer felt unable to ignore Gray's question or even give the frank reply as he so desperately wanted to. Accepting his fate, Tom pasted on a benevolent smile, leaned back in his chair, and replied, "And what's your question?"

A wolf smile turned up Dorian's lips, "I was wondering how you came to have a bullet in your shoulder, _Tom."_

Without missing a beat, Sawyer replied, "Unexpectedly." Pleasure surged through Tom at the flicker of annoyance that slipped past Gray's façade. "Since we're satisfying curiosities, I was wondering how you came to be immortal?

"Unexpectedly," Dorian coldly answered, his eyes meeting Sawyer's heatedly across the table.

Before Sawyer or Gray could say another word, Henry inquired politely of the Captain, "So how long will it be until we reach Venice?" turning the rest of the breakfast talk to the pros and cons of travel of any kind.

Three persons did not engage in the new conversation, Sawyer, Gray and Quatermain.

Allan's thoughts remained focused upon the man at his side and the verbal confrontation he had witnessed. When the sparring between Sawyer and Gray began, he had immediately felt stronger undercurrents to each man's words, undercurrents that were not just generated solely from Dorian's initial rejection of Sawyer. Knowing from personal experience how easily confrontations sprang up when two men liked the same woman, Allan looked to Mina Harker, who seemed baffled by the animosity at the table. As he set his gaze once again to the two combatants, Quatermain, ruling out Mina as the culprit for the exchange, focused on each man's exact words. Sawyer's words alluded to a private conversation between him and Dorian, a conversation where Allan was certain the immortal had distinctly NOT expressed a concern for the younger man's health. Allan could not help but wonder what exactly had been said in the tête-à-tête. Nothing pleasant he would bet.

Dorian's question about Tom's wound had snared Quatermain's undivided attention. Though frustrated and disappointed by Sawyer's flippant answer to Dorian's pointed inquiry, Allan couldn't help the small smile that sprang to his lips at the boy's audacity. Now as the others droned on about how tedious travel was these days, Allan's mind replayed Tom's conversation with Dorian, knowing there were more clues there then he initial uncovered. Tom's expression was of no assistance, the spy having pulled on his innocent backwoods boy smile and meek 'ah shucks' persona.

Feeling Quatermain's gaze upon him, Tom faced the adventurer's, gave a confused shrug and an innocent look that said, 'I don't know why Dorian's a jerk'.

Allan quirked an accusatory eyebrow at Sawyer's unspoken claim of innocence in the exchange. Instead of repentance, the wattage of Sawyer's smile turned up, causing Quatermain to smile and shake his head in defeat at the notion of changing the younger man's ways. A much missed sparkle returned to Sawyer's eyes.

"You do look better," Allan admitted, relief and pride almost slipping into his tone.

"I feel better," Tom replied, a little leery that he was setting himself up for another lecture from the older man. To his surprise, Quatermain accepted his words as truth, nodded in reply and turned back to his food. '_That was way too easy_.'

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Within the hour they would be in Venice. For some that thought brought satisfaction, the wait was almost over. For others it brought determination, I will do all I can do. For others it brought uncertainty, why am I here, what can I contribute to this cause.

Mina Harker found herself bombarded with all three responses. She had faced dangers and utilized her own unique powers only enough to come to the conclusion that she _might_ be able to supply some assistance to the real experts of this type of adventure. As she walked down the hallway of the Nautilus she thought of those experts. Allan Quatermain's exploits into danger were legendary and Thomas Sawyer had proven his worth at Dorian's house.

Unable to restrain her curiosity, Mina let her eyes dart into Quatermain's room as she walked by. Somehow she was reassured by the peacefulness that the man emanated as he loaded his guns like it was second nature to him. '_It probably is_,' she concluded, as she proceeded down the hallway. It was not Quatermain that she felt drawn to in this calm before the storm.

When she stood in the doorframe of her quarry, a smile turned up her lips. Thomas Sawyer's preparations were identical to Allan Quatermain's. Sensing her presence, Sawyer looked up from the task of loading the Winchester. His surprise at the identity of his guest unhidden.

"This is second nature to you, isn't it?" Mina began, stepping into the spy's room, her sharp gaze taking in the tidiness of all his possessions except for the clutter covering the table.

Having finished loading the Winchester, Tom let his full attention rest upon the beautiful but deadly widow. "What is?"

"This danger. These high stakes. Having innocent lives in your hands." Mina came to stand directly in front of Tom.

Nonchalantly, Tom gave as an answer, "Comes with the job."

"And so you just calmly accept whatever fate throws into your path to hinder your success?" her earnestness apparent.

Sawyer gave one of his trade mark smirks. "I don't know about calmly but I've come to expect roadblocks."

Quietly Mina said, "Like getting shot."

Tom stroked his fingers over his neck, right where Mina's bite marks would be on him, "Guess we've both got souvenirs from past road blocks."

Unconsciously Mina pulled her collar up tighter to her neck. Disdain coated her words, "Your 'souvenir" didn't change your whole life."

Tom's eyes darkened as his thoughts immediately went to Huck. Lowly he countered, "Don't be so sure." Grabbing his Winchester, he made to brush by Mina on his way out the door, her thin delicate hand on his arm stopped his motion. Their eyes met.

"I'm sorry." When confusion stood out on his features, she clarified, "for my rudeness earlier…on the tower. I was wrong about you."

To Mina's relief, Sawyer bestowed another smirk to her. "You're right…I'm not that sweet."

Mina laughed, realizing for the first time how long it had been since she had felt like laughing. "I bet you have all the ladies back home chasing you."

"You mean even though I'm young and somewhat sweet?" Tom teased, enjoying the light banter and the glimmer of happiness in Mina's eyes.

Mina nodded in reply, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

Sighing loudly, Tom confessed, "You'd be wrong. Huck always got there first…" he broke off his often spoken joke with his friend.

Not seeing the hurt in the other's eyes, Mina asked, "Who's Huck?" Having sensed a deep affection in his tone, she guessed, "Is he your brother?"

The question was like a knife in Tom's heart. '_In all respects that mattered Huck was my brother.' _ He swallows hard, not trusting his voice, he shook his head. Then lowly, his voice rough, he denied, "No he isn't…wasn't my brother."

Taking notice to the glittering pain in the other's eyes, Mina stammered, "I'm sorry…I let my curiosity get the best of me."

Instead of replying to Mina's apology, Tom pressed, "Can I ask you a question…a personal one?"

Mina put on a small smile, "You can ask...but I will decide if I shall answer it."  
"You and your husband fought Dracula together and your husband was killed…and you lived." Tom's eyes seared into Mina's, needing the truth from her. "Do you ever…have you ever felt…. Did it ever feel _wrong_ to be alive when your husband is dead?"

It was a question none had ever asked her before, a question that cut too close to the bone. A sharp refusal was to be her answer, until she saw the depths of despair in the young man's eyes. A despair that mirrored a pain buried in her own heart. "At first, I felt guilty for surviving..and then, when the effects of Dracula's bite started to emerge…" For a moment she broke off, and looked away from Tom's piercing gaze. Resolutely she forced herself to meet the spy's inquiring look head on. "I wished my husband had lived…and I had died. I thought everything in the world had become bitter and dark, that my survival was not a gift but a curse."

With quiet desperation Tom probed, "How did you stop feeling that way?"

A sad small smile emerged on Mina's lips, "Who says I don't feel that way any more." With that she began to walk away but before she crossed through the threshold of the door she turned back to Sawyer. "But the feeling fades a little each day, with each good thing I make out of my abilities and my life." A thoughtful look of insight sprang to her eyes. "I guess that's why you do the job you do…because it matters and it's the right thing to do and protecting others from harm helps to heal your own hurts."

Too stunned at Mina's insight, Tom stood silent, unable to think of what to say in reply.

Without another word, Mina walked away.

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Stepping determinedly from his room, Allan Quatermain found his path intersecting with Tom Sawyer's. Both men were equally surprised by their chance meeting. They had not sought out each other's presence since the previous day. The silence that fell heavily upon them was proof that their brief polite conversation at breakfast had done nothing to dismantle the uneasiness between them.

With his assessing look, Allan was relieved to see that Sawyer's coloring was improving, the bruises under his eyes were fading and only a splinter of pain still shadowed the young man's intense eyes. _'He's healing up nicely…just in time to risk getting himself killed again. Along with the rest of us.'_ But there was no fear or doubt in the American spy's, gaze, his two handguns snugly in their holsters and the Winchester in his right hand. '_Like I keep telling you Quatermain. You are two of a kind_.' With a jerk of his head, he welcomed Sawyer to head down the hallway as he too began that same trek. Walking down the hall in silence, matching each other's strides both determined to thwart the Fantom's schemes, a rightness settled in Allan's heart. '_This is where I belong…where he belongs. No matter how we fight against it,fate's in control and for once she knows what's she's doing.'_

Tom was touched to see his gifted Winchester in Allan's hand instead of the hunter's treasured Matilda. The gesture said more than words and Sawyer felt something akin to joy spring to life in his chest. Regardless of all his stubborn, stupid actions, Quatermain still found worth in him…or at least in his gift. And Sawyer knew in his heart that to Quatermain the two were mingled together. Desperately he wanted to take back his harsh words from the prior night and undo the tension that lay between him and Allan. Now, before it was too late.

Knowing that they were both heading into certain danger, Allan own words to Sawyer returned to him with sharp clarity, "_Promise me you'll take care of yourself, that you won't recklessly risk your life to keep some promise._" Wanting desperately to garner that promise from Tom, Allan opened his mouth but, remembering Tom's resolve last night, he abandoned that thought. Instead his voice held uncertainty as he began, "About Yesterday..

Even as Tom Sawyer began his own entreaty of "About Yesterday…"

Stunned to silence at their identical words, both men eyed one another warily before smiles sprang to their lips and they fell into laughter.

Wrapping an arm around Sawyer's shoulders, Allan suggested, "Let's stick to fighting with the bad guys, alright?"

Readily Tom agreed with relief. "Yeah. With the bad guys, I don't have to figure out how to apologize."

Laughing harder, Allan ruffled Sawyer's hair like had done to Harry. Startled by his actions, Allan tensed, contemplating withdrawing his touch from Sawyer. But he found he didn't want to, his actions feeling too natural to condemn. Instead his arm remained fatherly around Sawyer's shoulders as they made their way down the hallway.

At Quatermain's gesture of affection and antics, Sawyer's smile brightened and warmth flowed into his heart. Try as he might, he, however, couldn't shut out his cynical thoughts that were so much a part of his protective barriers. '_Don't get carried away, Sawyer. Ruffling you hair, slinging an arm around your shoulders, it doesn't mean as much to him as it means to you. Yeah, maybe he's looking for someone to take away the pain of the void his son left, but you're not his son, you can't fill that void. And he can't be your father. You can't cling desperately to him, looking for that kind of connection just because you never knew your father, never knew a fatherly touch of affection_.'

Swallowing hard, Tom pushed down his weak emotions. As cynical as his thoughts were he also knew them to be true. He and Quatermain were not kin, even Quatermain had said that. No, they were partners preparing to face dangers that may lead to their deaths. He refused to go into such dangers with words unspoken between them…not like it had ended between him and Huck. He could bear no more regrets.

"Allan," Tom's quiet sincere tone earning him Allan's full eye contact, "I really appreciate all you've done for me. Letting me come along, teaching me things, helping me when I was ill. Thank you."

A lump caught in Allan's throat. It sounded like the boy was saying goodbye. Looking away, he composed himself before he replied, "Your welcome, Saw…Tom." Shooting a quick glance to Tom he bent his arm to loop around Sawyer's neck, playfully putting the younger man into a head lock and pulling Sawyer against him. "You can thank me by taking care of yourself," he lightly bartered.

Feeling like he had been manipulated by the best, Sawyer flippantly replied, "I'll give it my best shot."

"See that you do," Allan breathed releasing the headlock he had on Sawyer but leaving his arm still resting on the American's shoulder as they continued down the hallway in companionable silence.

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Tom Sawyer felt the fate of the world rest heavily upon his shoulders as he raced Nemo's automobile down the streets of Venice. One minute he was bearing the burden with the rest of the members of the league and the next his compatriots had deserted him, seeking personal confrontations over the insurmountable task that was now Sawyer's alone to complete. Never had the stakes been higher. "No pressure, Sawyer," Tom spoke aloud, pressing the gas pedal to the floor, "You fail and the world will go to war…that's all."

A lesser man would be formulating excuses for his possible failure, not Tom Sawyer. He had failed Huck, he would not fail the world. No matter the odds, no matter the risks, no matter the measures he had to take, the Fantom would not win this round. Ignoring the crumbling foundations that rained around him, he strained the car to it's maximum endurance, eating up the cobbled streets under the tires like a snack.

There shouldn't have been time for contemplation but there was, there always was. That was what astonished him. How time seemed to slow down when every second counted, how his brain kicked in, thinking thoughts he had sworn he had buried too deep to be unearthed. Here and now, when his life may be ticking down to it's last seconds, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about Allan Quatermain and the connection that had sprung up between them. Allan's parting words before he bailed from the car weren't the kind that strengthened one's soul, "Remember the flare. I'm off. Don't forget, you're the target."

Others would have seen the words as callous and offhanded, Sawyer knew better. He, like Quatermain, was a man of action not words. Quatermain's departure told Tom in ways no words could convey that the adventurer had complete faith in Tom to save Venice without his assistance. It was the kind of gesture Huckleberry Finn had made to Tom countless times, a gesture of absolute trust. '_And I let him down, Huck trusted me and I let him down. But I won't let Quatermain down, not this time,' _he vowed, negotiating the streets as the rubble began to crash around him like a tidal wave, attempting to smash him in it's curl.

Then, with a burst of speed, he shot ahead of the domino of destruction. Reaching across the car, he grabbed the flare gun. It was time. Keeping the racing car on the rough road with one hand, he cocked the flare gun. It was then that he realized his path was about to dead end. '_Literally and figuratively,_' he sallied as he saw the wall that loomed in front of him and the large canal that was stretched behind the barrier. '_Huck I might be seeing ya soon_,' he thought without fear, a defiant smile breaking onto his face as the car barreled through the wall, arching over the water, seemingly flying through the air. At the height of the arch, Tom shot the flare into the sky, mesmerized by the night sky, accepting that this was possibly the last time he would be looking "up" to the heavens. Then the car began it's downward arch. '_I didn't let you down Allan_,' he proudly acknowledged before everything went black.

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Revenge drove Allan Quatermain's actions, causing him to abandon Sawyer, ignore the crumbling city around him, and pursue the Fantom with single-mindedness. To his surprise, something startled him from his hunt: a flare streaking high over head.

To his shock, he found himself stopping, his eyes tracking the flare as it climbed higher in the night sky. Pride surged through him. "Bravo, boy." '_The boy's done it!_ _He's saved Venice_!' Then, like some unforeseen attack, the possible cost of the victory slammed into his soul. '_But did he save himself! I told him to take care of himself and then I send him on a suicide mission!_' His last words to Tom ran through his head and he felt physically ill. He had been given the incredible chance to get to know Tom, to care for him and yet, he had made the same mistake as he had with Harry. He had thought of the mission over the man…over his son…over a young man he cared about like a son. "_Don't let him get away. I'll go right, you go left_" that's what his parting words to Harry had been. When next he saw his son, it was only sobs that he could utter as he drew the motionless body into his arms and kissed the top of his son's head as he had done when the his boy was very young.

Now if Tom was dead, if he had failed that young honorable man too…He shut down his emotions. Sawyer wasn't the only one who had vows to uphold. He had sworn to avenge the deaths of his friends in Africa. '_And now Tom may have died because of this bloody bastard's schemes_,' his grip upon the Winchester tightened, turning his hand white with it's intensity. '_Easy. Don't let your emotions control you. You can't win by being weak,'_ he instructed himself, his grip on the Winchester loosening up and his stance changing into the relaxed poise of a cheetah.

Calmly, he followed the Fantom into the graveyard and shut the door. '_How bloody appropriate a place for this to end.' _

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Someone was calling his name with that urgent you-better-mind-me-right-now tone that his Aunt Polly had perfected. Apparently she had taught that tone to someone else because it was a male voice that seemed to be screaming his name through his pounding head. "TOM!"

Instinctively he responded to the tone and fought against the unconsciousness that held him fast. With a moan he came to, his breath catching in his throat as pain came at him from seemingly every body part he owned. Squinting against the harsh light, he tried to grasp what had happened as his eyes took in his surroundings. It took but an instant before he remembered it all. Allan's last words came back to him 'remember you're the target'.

With a curse, Sawyer began the struggle to get out from under the car and escape the bulls eye that a rocket even now was honed into. Pulling himself forward with his hands, he shut down his reactions to pain as debris embedded into his hands, his right shoulder screamed in protest, his legs spiked with pain and his head felt like it would topple from his shoulders. Seconds ticked by like eternity as he maneuvered himself free of the car. Climbing to his feet turned into a feat in itself. Achieving that goal, he took two steps forward before he swung around, returned to the car and dropped to his knees. Reaching a probing hand into the car, he searched for something too precious to be left behind: his Winchester, one of two Winchesters that Huckleberry Finn had given to him on his last birthday. His hands snagged onto the silver barrel at last. Pulling the gun free of the car, Tom staggered to his feet and ran toward the light peeking through a doorway to the left. He had barely passed through the door and began to descend the stairs when the rocket hit the building. The fiery explosion plowed into Sawyer with unrelenting force, flinging him into the air.

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He had been wrong. It had not ended in the graveyard. Armed with the knowledge of the Fantom's identity, shocked by the revelation of M's betrayal and sporting a knife wound, Allan walked from the graveyard. Bitterly, he conceded that, though Venice had been saved, victory had yet to be claimed in this battle. '_A bloody turning point_,' he groused internally but as he stepped out into the street where he had bailed out of the automobile, his heart stopped.

Stunned he took five steps forward on the cobblestone road before stumbling to a disbelieving halt. The road had been obliterated, it's existence completely buried under the rubble of buildings that simply crumbled under the strain. Yet that was not the worst of it. The plume of smoke and the flickering flames that decorated the night sky told a more brutal story of Sawyer's mission. Valiantly Allan had reassured himself that the flare meant Sawyer lived but now, seeing this, knowing that Sawyer had sped Nemo's automobile down this very path, that he had sat "in" the target…Grief tore though Allan. The Fantom's words swirled around in his head, "You might as well have put the gun to your son's head and pulled the trigger yourself." Suddenly it seemed the same could be said for his protection of Sawyer. He had abandoned the young man for a mission of revenge!

In a daze, Quatermain made his way through the ruins, thinking that maybe Sawyer needed him, maybe there was still time to help the young man, unlike there had been for Harry. "No," he choked out as he stood at the broken wall before the large canal, his eyes fixed on the sight of the burning infernal that had once been a theater, the gleaming white metal from Nemo's automobile buried in it's midst. Clamping his eyes shut, Allan fought down a sob. Fearlessly Tom had driven the car right over the canal, ahead of the crumbling row of buildings, fired the flare and saved Venice. Pride and sorrow tore through Quatermain as a tear slid down his face. Opening his eyes, he drew in a shaky breath, watching the theater burn. Against all common sense, he found that a part of him rebelled against the thought of Sawyer being dead. The boy had too much spirit, too much fight. '_Everyone dies, Quatermain. Even the brave ones.'_

Desperately, Allan clutched onto the Winchester in his hands, his link to Tom. He had the Fantom to stop, M as it were. That was what Sawyer had sacrificed his life to accomplish, to thwart M's plans, to bring the villain to his knees. Unbidden, Allan remembered the promise Tom had exacted from him, "_Promise me you'll get the Fantom_."

Allan's own words back to Sawyer threatened to unleash his emotional floodgates. "_We'll get the bugger, together_." "I'll get the Fantom, Tom, you have my promise on it. No matter what, he'll pay…the ultimate price," Allan vowed, mesmerized by the flames of the fire for a moment before he turned away. He had a promise to keep.

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One thing Tom Sawyer hated was being awakened by his own moans of pain. It seemed to happen too darn often. Cursing his deplorable habit of moaning, he forced his eyes open to find himself sprawled out on the cobblestone street of Venice, debris scattered around him. '_And on me'_, he complained, pushing off the pulverized remnants of stones and shards of wood that littered his back. Maneuvering to his hands and knees, he hung his head as the piercing pain in his skull intensified.

When the agony softened to a manageable level, he forced his legs under him and stood up. Swaying, he knew he could not lay the blame on the foundation under his feet this time. Putting a hand to his head, he wasn't surprised to feel blood on his fingers. His head hurt badly enough that it 'had' to look dastardly. '_Shake it off. It's time to rejoin the troops and find out if the hunt's over or just moved to another jungle_.' A moment later he chastised himself, '_Great, now I'm talking like Quatermain._' But as he began the round about trek to the Nautilus, he couldn't for the life of him find fault with his new trait, deciding that there was nothing wrong with the phrases the adventurer coined.

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TBC

Replies to Reviews:

DF: Thanks for taking the time to review! My intentions were to make Sawyer appear as a human with faults, one of which is a temper. Since 'to error is human' I hope you'll forgive Sawyer (and me.)

Laura B: Thank you for your continued encouragement! And since I'm writing this story as I go, sometimes I don't know what will happen next. Thanks for your patience.

StriderX: 'Craptacular'! I love that word..I think I'm gonna use it on my friends! Thanks for the wonderful compliments and appreciating the deeper level I'm trying to reveal of Tom. Also, I'm pleased that you're not disappointed that things aren't just flowing easily together for Allan and Tom. I find life is never that simple.

Julia: I was blushing over your exclamation. It's such an honor to know that you liked the dialog because it's my favorite thing to write. And to say the chapters keep getting better…well I loved hearing that!

Sawyer Fan: Thanks for your wonderful review! I loved your description of the bonding as being 'on the rocky side.'

Ten Mara: Thank you for your insightful review! You are so right about relationships having their ups and downs! I hope you liked my version of the happenings in Venice. It was a lot tougher writing this segment than I realized because I wanted to stay true to the movie.

Alone Dreaming: As always, your review was a real treat! I wasn't at all certain I had Nemo down but I thought I'ld give it a shot..so glad you liked him! As for Tom, yes he needs a good tongue lashing from Aunt Polly about now! Thank you so much for liking my Quatermain portrayal and thinking his dialog fits in with what Sean Connery would say! Though I wanted to be more Tom centric, Allan is the character you get to know the best in the movie so he's the character I know best. And Mina made her appearance this chapter..how did you liked the portrayal. I am totally flattered that you have broken your own pattern and reviewed so often! I can't say how much it means to me to have a loyal reviewer such as yourself! And I really appreciated your words about not needing a college degree to do something marvelous!

Kingleby: Thanks so much for your wonderful review! And it's fun to get the relationship between Tom and Allan together piece by piece with lots of effort and risk. I believe that sometimes the greatest things in life don't come easy.

Amanda Hope: Thank you for your awesome review! When I read your review, I too was wondering where I was taking the plot. Guess that's why it took me so long to get this chapter written and posted. But I think I've got things straight in my head now. Hope you like where things are going.

Sabrina: Thanks so much for your encouraging and insightful review! You are so right that movies so often don't 'portray strong three dimensional characters'. I think I've always felt cheated by that and started to write to fill in that void. And yes, Tom is not just some lackey, he's a secret service agent! The movie and especially the novelization belittle that fact. He's used to saving the United States if not the world. He deserves more respect and again that's another reason this story came into being. Thanks so much for seeing my point of view and encouraging me to continue this story!

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Well, I've bored you all enough! Thanks so much for reading!

Cheryl W.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Sorry for the unpardonable delay in posting! I seemed to have written myself into a corner! Slowly I'm digging myself out but the chapter doesn't achieve all I had wished that it would! Thanks for still sticking with the story!

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Chapter 8

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Praying that his sense of direction was still functional enough to get him back to the Nautilus despite the pounding in his head, Tom cut through the streets of the dark unknown city. Venice, now saved from annihilation, was eerily quiet, as if the citizens were afraid to breathe a sigh of relief prematurely. As his footsteps sounded noisily on the cobbled street, one thought consumed Tom. '_What if the hunt's over_?' He knew without a doubt that Quatermain had seen the Fantom. It was the only reason that explained the hunter's abrupt abandonment of both the mission to save Venice and Sawyer himself. '_Of course the Fantom wanted to witness his own handiwork, to relish in the destruction he alone could take credit for. Sorry to disappoint you but your plan failed!'_ Tom internally growled, pleased that he could personally take credit for the Fantom's failure.

Even as satisfaction coursed through him, doubt clenched his heart. If this was the only victory he personally achieved over the Fantom, would it be enough for his soul? If Quatermain had killed the villain, could he live with that outcome? Or would he always be bitter that the Fantom had not died by his hands, that he had not stood over Huck's murderer, watching the fear grow in his eyes even as his life ebbed away. Would he feel that Huck had been avenged? That the Fantom had paid enough of a price for cutting short the life of Huckleberry Finn? For taking away another person that Tom loved?

The answer that poured out of Tom's soul was a resounding '_NO_!' He wanted the Fantom to pay in ways more brutal, more lasting than death. He wanted him to suffer, to beg, to pray for death. Tom **needed** the Fantom to regret with every part of his being that he had taken Huck's life. A sick longing sprang into his head. '_Don't be dead! Don't rob me of my revenge! You don't deserve to get off so easily!'_

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Another lone figure traveled the debris covered streets of Venice, his bitter thoughts cold comfort on his trek. '_If I had listened to my instincts, Tom would be alive_!' Allan accused silently. '_He was still weak, still in pain and I knew it! How many times did I open my mouth to ask him to stay on the Nautilus tonight! But I never said the words! Not once!_'

Clenching his jaw tightly against a cry of bitter outrage, Allan, with a strangling grip on the Winchester in his hand, forced one foot in front of the other. The reason he had not made that request of Sawyer was pathetic and selfish and damning. '_I didn't order him to stay behind because I couldn't bear to see distrust in his eyes again, to have him pull away from me. I sacrificed his life for his affection!' _A part of him argued that Sawyer would never have agreed to stay behind but he would not heed those words_. 'If I gave a damn about him, I should have sucker punched him and handcuffed him to his bed. I thought I was doing right by him, I thought I was protecting him like I hadn't done with Harry. I didn't **deserve** to have Tom in my life. I should not have had the **chance** to fail him!' _

Knowing that the next turn would take him to the Nautilus, Allan leaned against the nearest wall and hung his head. Once, he had nearly drowned in regrets and had sworn to never be that weak again. Now that feeling was assailing him again. '_The only thing you can do for Tom now is to fill the vow he asked of you. You're the leader of this bloody league! You have to keep it together and focus all your attention on bringing down the Fantom. There will be time for grieving later…in private._' Sawyer's words came back to Quatermain, _"I'll risk everything, do anything to fulfill the vow I've made. Don't try and stop me and don't stand in my way."_ "Yes," Allan snarled aloud, his eyes dark with grim determination as he adopted Sawyer's earlier pledge as his own, "I'll see it done, Tom. I swear it."

Pushing off the wall, Allan masked his emotions. His weakness had cost him Sawyer, had allowed the Fantom to slip through his fingers. It would not cost him anything else. Striding forward, he turned the corner and came into sight of the Nautilus, instantly noting the injured crewmembers, and the presence of the two league members: Nemo and Henry. He swallowed hard. Some part of him had vainly clung to the hope of seeing a smirking Sawyer leaning against the Nautilus, teasing him with how long it had taken him to make it back to the boat.

"The Phantom is M and the hunt is still on!" Quatermain announced, attempting to cover the wash of grief that welled up in him, his tone too lighthearted, too blasé even to his own ears. His statement earned him Nemo and Jekyll's attention, and the blood staining his vest had Jekyll reaching for him. Brutally Allan refused Jekyll's ministrations, skittering away from the man's reach and too perceptive gaze, determined that no one know that though his hand pressed against the knife wound high on his shoulder, his true agony lay inches below the wound, deep within his heart. '_Don't you understand Henry? I don't matter! Nothing matters except fulfilling my promise to Tom_!'

With impatience, Allan clarified M's deception to Jekyll. There was no time for more questions! Action was called for now. The Fantom was here somewhere and Allan knew with the help of the league he could find him. He had meant his next words to be as gruff as his reply to Jekyll's question about M but they weren't. Instead they were choked, drowning in some desperate hope. "Where are the others?"

The voice that answered was not the one he fervently prayed to hear. "Dorian is missing in action and Mr. Skinner must have fled when he realized we knew," Mina answered as she approached the group, her appearance once again the picture of a British lady of society.

Allan's throat constricted, one final question clawing at his heart to be voiced. '_You know there is no hope! You saw the car, the theater. Don't ask! Don't make them say the truth that you can't bear to hear!_' But for all his pleading, Allan knew he could not live with the doubt. The two words caught in his throat as he looked behind him, "And Sawyer?" he quietly asked, purposefully avoiding the use of Sawyer's first name, knowing that he could not utter "Tom" without breaking into a sob.

"He'll live to fight another day," Tom drawled coming upon the group from behind Mina.

Allan's heart jolted in his chest as his eyes swung around to land on the sight of a bleeding, disheveled Thomas Sawyer. Sighing in utter relief, Allan closed his eyes a moment to reign in his nearly rampant emotions. When he reopened his eyes, he greedily drank in the sight of Tom. '_God must have a soft spot for young, stubborn, reckless Americans like I do!_' Though the boy looked worse for the wear and seemed to purposefully be avoiding making eye contact, Allan had never been happier to see anyone in his whole life. It even beat out his relief the time Nigel showed up just in time to rescue him from being a tribe's dinner.

As all eyes settled on him in shock and something that looked a lot like pride, Tom bowed his head. He hadn't meant to make a grand entrance but then again Huck had always accused him of having a knack for grand entrances. Unwilling to admit to such boldness, he kept his head bowed and swiped at the still flowing blood from his head wound. Sensing Mina's purposeful approach, Tom halted in his tracks, his head snapping up, his eyes filled with defiance that clearly said, 'I don't care how beautiful you are, Mina. I didn't just survive a crumbling city, a crashlanding into a building, a rocket and an explosion only to get my throat ripped out by you.'

The threat in Tom's eyes stilled Mina's hand inches from his bloody forehead. Their eyes clashed in challenge for a moment. When Mina broke the silence, she spoke gently as if she were tending to a skittish animal, "Don't worry. I've had my fill of throats for the evening." Seeing the threat die in Tom's eyes, Mina lightly touched the bleeding gash almost like a caress.

Determining that Mina was no longer a threat, Quatermain released his held breath and lowered his Winchester that moments prior had targeted the vampire. He couldn't restrain the smirk that crept onto his face. '_The good widow didn't rush to my aid! You might just have a chance with the vampire lady, Sawyer…a dangerous prospect indeed_.' Before he could decide if he wished to encourage or dissuade the young man from a liaison with Mina, the unthinkable occurred. Ishmael stumbled down the plank and with his last breath unleashed another betrayal that rocked the league. Hard on the heels of that blow, before Allan could fully grasp the implications of Gray's betrayal, they all watched in bitter hatred as Gray stole away in Nemo's observation pod. "I have found the enemy and they are us," Allan bitterly quoted, as he stood a moment longer, his eyes searing into the pod that housed Dorian before he stepped back into the Nautilus.

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Though there was a burning urgency to take up pursuit of Dorian, preparations for departure had to be performed, injuries needed tending to and Ishmael had to be brought aboard. At Dorian's departure, Nemo had strode inside the Nautilus, issuing orders, his steps heading once again for the port side of the boat. Sawyer trailed him, planning on assisting the wounded. But when Nemo stood on the top of the ramp, pointedly not looking to the lifeless body of his first mate as he gave instructions for loading the wounded, Sawyer found he could not tear his gaze from Ishmael.

'_Another casualty to this mission_,' he angrily tallied, as his heart constricted in empathy to Nemo's pain. He knew what it was like to lose a friend that you valued more than your own life. Slowly, Tom walked down the ramp to Ishmael. Taking off his coat, he knelt down beside the Nautilus's first mate, laid his Winchester aside and tenderly covered the man with his coat. Sensing Nemo's approach, Tom looked up at the captain, his eyes full of compassion and sorrow. "I'm sorry, Nemo. I know what it's like to lose a friend."

Crouching down beside Ishmael, Nemo's eyes did not stray from the covered form of his friend. "He was family…the only family I had left," his voice shaky and filled with grief.

The words seared into Tom's heart, making it hard for him to draw in breath. '_Huck was that for me too. Aunt Polly ..Sid..we've grown too distant to be family anymore. Huck was the only one I had left, the only one who I could bear my soul to_.' Unbidden he remembered as an officer steered him from the docks, seeing Huck's lifeless body lying on the docks. Painfully, he had watched as a mortician carelessly threw a sheet over the body as if it was something abhorrent, something worthless and vile.

"I can carry him inside," Tom offered, his voice thick as his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Shaking his head Nemo quietly replied, "No. That honor I will do myself." Tom watched as Nemo tenderly slid his hands under Ishmael's body, drew the man into his arms, stood up and walked into the Nautilus as if he held something infinitely fragile in his arms.

'_I didn't do that for Huck. I let them treat him like ….like a corpse_.'

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Believing that grief was something private, something that no one had the right to witness, Allan had intended to allow Nemo to handle Ishmael's body alone. And had he guessed Sawyer's intentions he would have dissuaded the man from his course of action. '_You would have been wrong to stop him,_' he realized as he watched the heart rendering interchange between the spy and the captain. Tom's compassion did not surprise Allan, he had come to know the young spy's kind heart very well. Instead it was the level of anguish that clung to Tom's soul that truly baffled the hunter. With sorrow he knew the younger man's anguish did not solely emerge on Ishmael's behalf.

As Nemo passed him on the ramp bearing Ishmael's covered body, Allan looked away almost in shame. He had not given the captain the privacy like he had planned; instead he had stood there like a rude interloper, taking in every word and gesture between Nemo and Sawyer. After Nemo entered the Nautilus, Allan was once again drawn to the sight of the still kneeling Sawyer who wore an expression that caused a lump to form in Allan's throat. He could not bear to see the anguish on the young man's face. His feet were in motion before he even realized the intentions of his heart. '_There must be something I can do! Someway I can reach him, to ease the obvious pain he's in_.'

When a gentle hand settled on Tom's shoulder and his name tenderly was called, Tom forced his eyes from the sight of the blood on the ramp up to rest on Quatermain's worried gaze. "He shouldna died," Tom disputed, his voice far away and drowning in despair.

Instantly Allan knew Sawyer wasn't only raging against Ishmael's death. No the depth of the American's pain went to deep, glittered too brightly from the hazel eyes, poured too painfully from the quiet strained voice. Desperate to ease Sawyer's agony, Allan crouched down to be eye level with Tom, needing to reach the younger man before he teetered off the emotional precipice he balanced upon. "You're right, he should not have died but things happen that are out of our control, for reasons we can't grasp, leaving us to pick up the pieces, to make them into something we understand, that we can accept."

Tom's soul searching gaze almost caused Allan to shrink away, to abstain from such an intimate connection. But he found he couldn't withdraw from Tom now…in fact, he admitted that he didn't **want** to withdraw from the young man.

Tom's words were quiet, anguished as his eyes pierced into Allan's brown eyes, "What if we can't turn bad into good? What if there is no silver lining waiting to be revealed?"

It was almost as if Sawyer's words had come from Allan's own soul. Hadn't he asked himself those same questions after Harry's death! It was strange to reveal his private revelation to this young man that he had met only days prior, "Sometimes we can't make something good come from something bad." Reaching out a hand, Allan tenderly clasped the right side of Sawyer's neck. "But what I'm starting to learn is that if we hang in there, if we keep fighting the good fight, we'll be blessed with something good again. It won't be the same as what we lost but it'll ease that pain little by little until we can look back not with bitterness for what we've lost but with gratitude for the gift we had if only for a short time."

'_Is that how you feel about Harry_?' Instantly sprang into Tom's head but he dared not ask. He would not utter Harry's name again. He did not have the right. '_And if Allan does feel that way, is it possible that I can know that kind of peace about losing Huck?'_

Seeing uncertainty in Sawyer's eyes, Allan feared that, in his desperation to ease the spy's pain, he had pushed his own philosophy too forcefully upon the young man. "Let's get you inside and have that cut on your head seen to," he said lightly, moving his hand from Sawyer's neck and hooking it under the spy's arm. Gently he aided Tom to his feet, grimacing against the fiery pain his own shoulder emanated.

As he came to his feet, Tom clenched his teeth against the piercing pain in his head while bracing his right arm against his ribs. Through his own haze of pain he noted Quatermain's own flinch of discomfort, taking notice for the first time that blood stained the vest the older man wore. Not one to miss a chance to deflect attention from himself, Tom challenged, "Oh I think my little cut will get tended to 'after' Henry stitches your wound."

"What? This?" Allan gruffly replied, pointedly looked at his shoulder as if he were the best judge of his own wellbeing. His gaze returned to Sawyer's. "Just a scratch."

"And who gave you that 'scratch'?" Tom demanded, standing toe to toe with Quatermain, the look in his eye telling Allan that he wouldn't budge unless his question was answered.

"The Fantom," Allan sneered, his hatred and frustration overflowing from his words. "His weapon of choice seems to be knives. Guess he likes his kills to be up close and personal."

Stilling as if every nerve he possessed was in jeopardy of snapping, Tom couldn't shut out Allan's words or deny the truth of them. "Yeah, he does," he lowly agreed, once again seeing Huck's wound in his mind's eye. Involuntarily Tom's hand clenched. He could almost feel Huck's blood welling between his fingers all over again. With deadly calmness the secret service agent asked, "The Fantom, is he dead?" as if his heart was not pounding in his chest and his breath wasn't catching in his throat waiting for the reply.

"No," Allan growled, his own embroiled emotions too raw to allow him to interpret Sawyer's reactions. "And his true identity is M, the man who put this bloody league together," he announced as he began to stalk up the ramp.

'_The Fantom is alive_.' At the news, Tom felt satisfaction and bitter disappointment vie for control of his soul.

Allan had taken four steps up the ramp before he realized that his companion was not accompanying him. Stopping his headlong pace, he looked back to Sawyer with a raised eyebrow. The troubled look upon the young spy's face deflated any impatience in the hunter. "We'll get the bugger, I promise you that," he vowed with fervor, wanting to ease the unhappiness in the younger man.

A small nod of his head was Sawyer's reply.

With perceptiveness, Allan knew his words had not lent much comfort to Sawyer, who appeared to be lost and alone in the world. Softly he invited, "I think it's time to have that talk we've been postponing."

Rebellion sprang from Tom's every nerve. He knew what Quatermain wanted him to talk about, was practically demanding he talk about: Huck. Without preamble he stated, "I'm going to help load the wounded."

"Sporting a bullet wound, a bleeding head and who knows what other injuries after today's antics!" Allan countered, his tone turning rough at Tom's defensive tactics and oblivious disregard for his own well being. "I don't think so," he said with finality as if the matter was his to decide.

"We'll talk after I'm through," Tom firmly stated turning his back on Quatermain, his own stubborn will not to be denied. Sawyer wasn't surprised when an iron like grip clenched onto his left arm, halting his motion.

Coming to stand in front of Tom, Allan demanded, "We'll talk now."

Sawyer's easy going mantle dropped from his façade as his eyes pierced Quatermain's. Lowly he warned, "Don't overstep your boundaries. I work for the American government, not you."

"Last time I checked your government wasn't keen on rogue agents," Allan countered just as quietly.

Tom stilled, his eyes narrowed. "What's that suppose to mean?"  
"We'll talk inside," Allan insisted attempting to propel Sawyer up the ramp and into the Nautilus. But Sawyer proved to be an unmovable rock.

"Spit it out, Quatermain," Sawyer ordered, a challenge in his eyes.

Allan stiffened at the unfriendly way the younger man said his name. '_Great. Now we're back to formalities. And what I'm about to say is only going to make matters worse between us._'

Misinterpreting Quatermain's hesitation in replying, Tom took a menacing step toward the hunter, his glare scathing, "You think I'm a traitor too? Like Gray?"

"No!" Allan exploded, garnering the attention of the people nearest the duo. Dropping his voice to ensure his next words only reached the American, he theorized, taking care to avoid a tone of accusation, "Your government would never have kept you in the field after you were wounded. I think you've gone rogue to catch the Fantom. You're looking for revenge,"

If Quatermain hoped for a confession, Sawyer disappointed him. Instead the spy turned the tables on the adventurer. "Really? I'm not the one who said to hell with saving Venice, jumped out of the automobile and went after the Fantom with every intention of killing him."

The words cut through Allan's barriers more effectively than the Fantom's knife had his flesh. He almost sighed as his thoughts returned to the peaceful days in Africa. '_I'm starting to sorely wish I was on a hunt in Africa! There I could be assured that none of the bloody animals would walk into my camp and bloody analyze me!' _Acceptingthat Sawyer was right, that he deserved the spy's anger for abandoning not only him but the mission, Allan confessed, releasing Sawyer's arm from his grip, "You're right. I was wrong to abandon you."

"This isn't about me! This is about you putting your need for some kind of revenge above Venice's survival!" Tom snarled back even as his own soul cried out, '_like I wanted to! I deserved the chance to take out the Fantom! Quatermain shoulda saved Venice! Not me!_' Before his thoughts could burst out of him, he swung on his heel and stalked down the ramp. He walked right past the injured crewmembers through the archway Allan had used to return to the Nautilus, turned the corner and took a few steps onto the street before halting, knowing he was now hidden from view of the Nautilus.

Tom wanted to rage against the world, to unleash a roar of frustration, to punch something without holding back or kick something hard enough to send it into orbit. The Fantom had been here, had been within his grasp and he had slipped away! '_Just like he had at Gray's house! You blew that chance too! You had a clear shot, hell you had a thousand clear shots but you never took them!_' Another part of his soul argued again the same points, _'If you would have taken your clear shot at Gray's house when he was taking to Quatermain, it would have ended in a blood bath! And the casualties would have all been the league members_!' The less noble part of his nature wanted to scream back, '_Who cares! They were strangers to you! Huck was family!'_

"I lied to you," came Allan Quatermain's voice from behind him.

Without turning around, Tom growled cynically, "Everybody lies."

'_He isn't going to make this confession easy on me_,' Allan groused, determining by Sawyer's stance that the American was barely capable of restraining his raging emotions. "I didn't join this mission because the British government called."

"Then why did you? Or are you going to confess to being a traitor, out for some personal gain?" Tom scoffed, too low in spirits to play nice.

Ignoring the sarcastic accusation, Allan took a steadying breath and softly revealed the anguish in his soul. "Some of the Fantom's henchman came after me in Africa, they killed my closest friends."

Tom swung around, shock in his eyes as Allan continued with self recrimination, "Now I know that was to ensure I played M's little game, that I join his blasted league."

"But why? Did he want worthy adversaries so badly that he formed this league to get it?" Tom incredulously offered. "That doesn't seem right."

"No, no it doesn't," Allan agreed, defeat turning his words soft.

The two men's eyes met and some of the tension melted. Sawyer broke the silence. "Allan, I'm sorry about your friends."

Having Tom call him 'Allan', eased some of Quatermain's pain as surely as the younger man's sentiment. Gently he replied, "And I'm sorry about Huck. The Fantom killed him didn't he?"

Tom's throat nearly closed around the one word he forced himself to utter, "Yes."

Allan flinched at Tom's oblivious anguish, "It might help to talk about it," he suggested quietly but knew Sawyer's reply by the dark emotions in his eyes.

"Talking about it won't bring Huck back, it won't change a thing," Tom coldly retorted, walking by Quatermain heading for the Nautilus.

Allan called out after Tom, "It might bring you some peace."

At the word 'peace', Tom stumbled to a stop. Peace. It was what he longed for, what he vowed to bestow on Huck's soul. But Quatermain was wrong, talking about Huck's murder wouldn't lead to peace, only one thing would. Turning around, Tom said in a tone cold enough to freeze Africa, "Watching the Fantom breathe his last breath, seeing the life fade in his eyes, that will give me peace."

"What if it doesn't?" Allan asked not in challenge but worry, having walked the ruinous path of revenge a time or two himself.

"It has to. Revenge is all I have left," Tom proclaimed, a glare of resolution in his eyes. When Allan only stood there, silent and seemingly too stunned to move, Sawyer turned away and made his way to the closest injured men on the ground.

Allan felt like he couldn't breathe, like Hyde had his hand in his chest and was squeezing his heart in his crushing grip. Tom was only a few feet away from him but it felt as if he was already lost to him. If the young man got his wish, if he fulfilled his desires of revenge, Allan feared Sawyer's honorable soul would never know peace again.

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TBC

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Well, that's what I got so far! Hopefully it won't take me as long to get the next chapter up!

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Replies to Reviews:

Ten Mara: I truly appreciate your interest in this story and your encouragement! Glad I could give you a taste of a Tom/Mina relationship that you enjoyed! And no, I wasn't surprised that you enjoyed the two men making up…though it's back to being a little rocky between them again. Sorry! I'll deal with Tom's injuries and reaction to the bombs in the next chapter so I hope you'll stay tuned. Love all your reviews!

StriderX: Your sneakiness in reviewing twice was so touching! Thanks for the encouragement! I was totally caught off guard that you considered last chapter "one of my best chaps yet"! I loved hearing that! As for the word "tête-à-tête" it means private conversation…(I love using that word! It makes it sound like I'm actually having a top secret conversation!) So pleased you enjoyed the Tom/Mina scenes! Always love hearing from you!

Sawyer Fan: Thanks for your wonderful review! Glad you liked the elements of last chapter …digs, hair ruffling and "apologies"! I guess I couldn't stand all those happy feelings because I could resist putting some tension between Allan and Tom. Aren't I terrible! Love reading your reviews!

Scruffy-Duck: Thanks so much for reading and leaving me two wonderful reviews! As for it being sad…I guess I'm a sucker for angst! I was so touched by your 2nd review and your appreciation for this story! Thank you! (And I'm not a fan of Mary Sues either so my sympathies go to you!) Hope to hear from you again!

Laura B: Thanks so much for dropping that wonderful review!

Claudette: Thank you for your wonderful review and support! Glad I didn't misinterpret the movie scenes..I would hate to think I missed a perfect opportunity for Allan to dig out Tom at the wreck! And you know Tom so well! Love to hear your thoughts on this chapter!

Issa: Thanks for the encouraging review! And yes, my intentions are to continue the story after the movie…as long as my "muse" continues to play nice!

Julia: You had me smiling when you said you missed my "famous dialogs"! That was an awesome compliment that you gave me! Hope I got some fair dialog in here! That's been my struggle lately, knowing what the character would say to each other! Looking forward to reading your review!

Amanda Hope: I loved reading your review! I'm so glad I didn't disappoint you with last chapter! This story is turning out to be like one of those games were they get harder the longer you play! I really appreciate your support of this story!

Kingleby: You got me blushing with your glowing review! And thanks for enjoying the relationship between Tom and Allan and the distrust for Dorian. Hope you drop me a review for this chapter!

Shakai: I loved your review! Thank you! And yes, Tom is the best and hot to boot! (go Shane West!) Glad you like my sick obsession with hurting the one I love. Hope to hear from you again!

Thanks for everyone who's still reading this story! I promise I will finish this tale!

Cheryl W.


	9. Chapter 9

Peace

By: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I don't own The League of the Extraordinary Gentlemen or anything in conjunction with LXG nor am I making a profit from this story. No copyright infringement is intended. Sadly, I do not own Tom Sawyer either.

Author's Note: This is a short chapter but I thought you'ld like proof that this story and it's author weren't dead. Hope this is enough to keep you hanging on. Thanks!

Chapter 9

The crewmember was dead. Sawyer did not need to feel for a pulse to know that blood no longer flowed in the man's veins nor did he have to put his ear to the man's chest to know the man's heart no longer beat. No, he had come to know death's presence too well to be deceived.

Tom's shoulders slumped as he stood beside the man, looking down into the Indian's hollow gaze. He could not help but wonder who would mourn this man's passing. Did he have a wife, children, siblings, parents? Would they want revenge for the cruel loss of this life so precious to them like he sought for Huck? Would they rally his own efforts or try and sway him with words as Quatermain had done, hinting that revenge would not bring peace…to the deceased or to him.

Raising his eyes, Sawyer took in the scope of devastation around him, not only the wounded but the air choked with dust, the rubble that littered the ground and the unmistakable stench of despair, disbelief and death. '_It's a battlefield_,' he realized in shock, remembering the ravages of battle in Cuba, the bodies littering the ground like forgotten toys, the perverse dance of combat. The Fantom wanted a war and he had waged one, right here in Venice, against the innocent, the unsuspecting, the undeserving.

'_We didn't win today, **I** didn't win today. I just stole some bills from the pot the Fantom won_,' bitter realization coming over him like a winter rain. '_The next hand I play with him will be for all or nothing, victory or defeat, life or death_.' He was confident that there would be no amateurs in the next poker game he played with the Fantom, no innocent lives needing to be saved, no obstacles to hinder their confrontation. '_Well, maybe one obstacle,_' Tom amended, certain that Allan would try his darnedest to prevent the inevitable. But just as surely he knew the older man would fail in the endeavor. This face-off between he and the Fantom was well overdue.

Allan, whose eyes had never forsaken their despairing watch over Sawyer, tensed when the secret service agent did not bend down beside the wounded man's side but instead remained standing, his eyes fixed on the man. Visibly Quatermain saw defeat weigh down the spy's stance. Sighing, Allan knowingly added another mortality to the tally. '_And Sawyer takes each death personally, as if the fault is his_,' came to him like a blow to the chest. Guilt, it was drowning the younger man. And it was not just the guilt Sawyer felt over his friend's death, no the young spy was holding himself personally responsible for every evil deed the Fantom unleashed. Muttering a curse at his own stupidity for not realizing this sooner, Allan headed toward Tom. If he let the spy continue heaping misplaced guilt onto his soul, Sawyer would break under the burden…into a thousand pieces that could never be put back together.

Tom, sensing Quatermain's approach more than hearing it, didn't turn to face the hunter. Instead he kept his eyes on the carnage. "He doesn't value human life," he announced quietly when he knew Allan was close enough to hear his words.

Halting at Sawyer's back, Allan, hearing the young man's defeatist tone and feeling his overwhelming shock that anyone could be so utterly heartless, clenched his jaw until he feared his teeth would crumble under the pressure. Tom was too young, too pure, he should have been spared from the perverse machination of a man who bore a true heart of darkness. Allan knew only too well that now that Sawyer had come to know the fathomless depths of evil, there was no going back, no reclaiming his innocence, no way to wholeheartedly wipe the stain from his soul.

When Quatermain made no reply, Tom turned around to face the older man. "The Fantom knows no mercy, he can't be bargained with or rationalized with," he stated as if Allan would argue the points. "He takes lives as carelessly as he breathes. Only death will stop him…" he quietly ended, "and you want me to let him live", his disdain for Allan's advice like a shout.

"No!" Desperate that the essence of his words reach the younger man, Allan seized unto Tom's arms. Unflinchingly he met the American's blazing eyes. "What I want is for **you** to live! And wish to **continue** to live once this is all over."

Taking Quatermain's words as a reprimand for his earlier weakness of soul, Tom tried to yank from Allan's grip but the old hunter had the strength of an elephant and the determined heart of a lion. As Quatermain drew him closer, Tom abandoned his struggles and settled for a white hot glare into the adventurer's brown eyes.

"I've walked the path you're walking, Sawyer. I sought revenge for my son's death and neither heaven nor earth could stop me till I had my son's murderer's blood upon my hands." Seeing vindication in Tom's eyes, Allan continued, his tone turning quiet and forlorn. "But I also have that blood on my heart, in my soul and I can't get it out. Ever. By killing a murderer, I became a murderer. And now I have to bear that shame, knowing that should I meet my son again he would be ashamed of me, of my tainted soul. I did what I wanted to do, not what he would have wished me to do. I know that now."

Allan's words seared into Tom like a knife. Allan had felt what he feels now, had sought revenge as he does now, had paid death for death as he planned to do. And yet Tom could see the sorrow in the older man's eyes, could read his shame and regret like a book. Was that to be his future? Would avenging Huck's death cost him his soul? Could he take the chance that it wouldn't? "I can't let the Fantom live," he breathed in anguish, "He killed Huck."

"What if the roles were reversed, if you died and Huck lived. Would you want Huck to destroy his soul to get revenge for your death? Could you bear to know the cost he paid for that revenge? What he sacrificed for you?"

Allan was treating the thought of a reversal of the two secret service agent's fates like a scenario while it had been Tom's prayer, a prayer he fervently begged God to grant. Quatermain's lucid conclusion of the consequences of such a reversal of fates singed Tom's soul. Always when he wanted to "do over" what had transpired on that London dock, he had sought life for Huck and accepted death for himself. Only now did he put Huck in his position right here, right now, where every good memory was now a bitter reminder of who he had lost, where guilt made his every breath a gift he didn't deserve, where sorrow kept eating away at his soul like an acid. '_Is this torment what I want to inflict on Huck? To feel dead inside and yet be in so much agony that you contemplate any means to make it stop?_' The answer was so sharp it seemed to sever his heart.

"I wouldn't want any harm to come to Huck… for all the world," his voice breaking, a tear sliding down his cheek unchecked as he realized the futility of his pledge. Huck was dead, all the harm in the world had come upon him…while he helpless held him in his arms. And the damnable truth was, Tom finally understood he would not have spared his best friend pain if things had turned out differently, if death had claimed him instead of Huck.

Seeing the broken look in Tom's eyes, watching the tear slip down the younger man's dirty cheek, Allan was overwhelmed with empathy for Tom's torment. Without thought, without misgivings, Allan pulled Tom against his chest, the spy's bowed head coming to rest on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around the despairing man. Gently he responded, "And Huck wouldn't wish any harm to come to you. He wouldn't want you to taint your soul with the Fantom's blood. There are others way to get justice for your friend and we'll see it done, together."

Allan's compassionate pledge broke down the last of Tom's barriers. Instantly he wrapped his arms around Allan, knowing that he did not need to hide his vulnerabilities from this man. "I…I let Huck down, I can't fail him again. Not in this," Tom breathed, the trembling in his voice causing Allan to tighten his embrace on the young man.

"You won't lad, you won't," Allan gently reassured, his hand slipping to the base of Tom's head. He felt the blond head nod against his shoulder in mute agreement. When Sawyer pulled back from him, it took all of Allan's will to let him go. With the young man in his arms, he had the foolish belief that he could protect Tom from all the cruelties of the world. As he released Tom, he felt like he was willingly allowing hurt to come to the young man he had begun to think of as a son. His hands dropped to his sides, clenching into fists at the panic that washed over him at the thought of harm coming to Sawyer. '_More harm_,' he amended, as he took notice of the physical and mental inflictions that had made their mark on Sawyer.

Roughly, Sawyer swiped away the traces of tears and took a steadying breath. To his surprise, shame did not cling to him at being so emotional in front of Quatermain but instead the painful grip that had been squeezing his heart lessened. It wasn't peace but it was a step in the right direction. His words were heartfelt and sincere as he met Allan's probing gaze, "Thank you Allan. I…I wasn't thinking rationally."

Instead of censure, a deeper level of affection entered the hunter's eyes. "You're hurting and grieving, that always muddies the waters." Seeing the way the American was about to misinterpret his words, he clarified, "I'm not listing that as a weakness, I'm stating it as a fact, for every single soul on this earth."

Accepting Quatermain's excuse for his own corrupted plan for justice, Tom, sighing, let down his defenses. They had proved useless against Quatermain anyway. "So justice is the way to go from here on out. Any ideas how we achieve it?" he strained for a lightness he was only starting to feel.

Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, Allan replied with the same effort at lightheartedness, "Well like a Zulu hunter always told me," he interrupted his tale to press his handkerchief against Sawyer's still bleeding head wound, earning a flinch from the young spy. A twinkle returned to Quatermain's eyes as he met Sawyer's green gaze, "Every great hunt begins the same way, with one single step forward."

Sawyer reacted with a smirk and a snort as he let the other man dab at his forehead without protest. "That's the wisdom of all your great **long **experience!" he sallied, trying to get back the camaraderie he so valued with the older man. Allan did not disappoint him.

Raising an eyebrow in protest and reprimand, Allan shot back, "**Long** experience, is it? Well, compared to a wet behind the ears **pup** like you, everyone's experience is lengthy," his eyes swinging down to Sawyer's eyes before returning back to the spy's wound, but not before Sawyer saw the mirth leaking from the brown depths.

Having finally cleared away the blood sufficiently enough to see the true dimensions of the wound, Allan announced, "This is going to need stitches."

"It doesn't even need a bandage," Tom refuted, however his tone was carefree, gone was the head strong essence the spy had long been projecting. Sawyer's hands snaked out and pulled back Quatermain's vest to reveal the blood stained shirt underneath, "Unlike your wound." With gentle fingers he felt the wound, causing Quatermain to grunt in pain and snatch the young spy's wrist in his grip. The spy's eyes clashed with the adventurer's, "Which, let me tell you in my professional opinion, requires quite a few stitches."

"Your _professional_ opinion?" Allan scoffed, though there was no malice in his demeanor. Dropping his grip on the younger man's wrist, he stated as if the spy didn't know his own shortcoming, "You're no doctor."

"Doctor? No. Very familiar with various wounds? Absolutely. I learn from my _experiences_. I'm not just a pretty face you know?"

Allan barely concealed his smile and choked back his laughter. It was so wonderful to see Sawyer's lively spirit break through the wall it had been imprisoned behind for far too long. "Pretty face, eh? Well it won't be so pretty if you don't get that wound stitched up. Then what will you have to rely on to get you out of your scrapes, your very limited experiences in life?"

"Well I think I could survive without being handsome but would you survive if you couldn't shoot Matilda anymore? That's what'll happen if **you** don't get **your** wound stitched up," Tom reprimanded back, jerking his chin toward Allan's wound as he spoke.

A voice broke into their banter. "You both need stitches. Now get on board," Henry briskly said, surprising the two notoriously unflappable men as he came to stand beside them.

"Jekyll, don't sneak up on me!" Quatermain groused, his heart still pounding at the unexpected trespasser upon their tête-à-tête.

Henry didn't bother to point out that he hadn't snuck up on the two men, in fact he had ambled toward them, trying to ensure Sawyer and Quatermain saw the likelihood of his impending presence at their side. As it turned out, it was all in vain. The two men had been so engrossed in lecturing one another they never suspected a thing.

Having learned a thing or two about the stubborn streaks in Sawyer and Quatermain, Henry, deciding that a firm hand was the only tool that would work, seized Quatermain's arm in one hand and Sawyer's in the other and began to usher them toward the ramp of the Nautilus. "You two come on. I'd like to stitch you up before the Nautilus sets sail…or whatever you say when a submarine leaves port."

It was almost comical, the sight of the wiry Jekyll dragging Quatermain and Sawyer toward the ship like two naughty boys headed for an unforgettable encounter with a switch.

"I can walk, Jekyll," Quatermain growled, shooting a disgruntle look to the doctor.

"Fine, then do so," Henry ordered, dropping his grip on Allan.

When he was not likewise freed, Tom complained, "I can walk too. See, one foot in front of the other," he said as he took large over-exaggerated steps at Henry's side.

"_You_ were barely on your feet when this whole Venice fiasco started. Now with a head wound and who knows what other hurts, I really don't know what's keeping you on your feet."

"Stamina," Tom boasted even as Allan retorted, "Stubborness" at the same time.

"Whatever it is, it will not last much longer," Henry warned, his concern visible in his expression.

"Wanna bet?" Sawyer challenged, a cocky smile on his lips.

"No!" came the answer simultaneously from Jekyll and Quatermain, each giving him a look so similar to his Aunt Polly's scowl that he couldn't help giving a chuckle.

"This is not some wager or contest," Jekyll began but Tom cut in with a patronizing tone.

"Hey, calm down. I'm not trying to go for a world record here."

"You could have fooled me," Allan grumbled, shooting a gentle admonishing look across Jekyll to the young wounded man.

"Two against one, that doesn't sound like fair play gentlemen," Sawyer chastised the two men at his side, changing his tactics to defensive maneuvers.

"Fair? Gentlemen? Who said I was either?" Quatermain countered a gleam in his eyes.

Tom opened his mouth to reply but the trio had reached the base of the ramp and the sight of stretchers baring corpses being loaded into the ship halted his joviality. Solemnly the three men began to follow the progression up the ramp.

"My rifle," Sawyer said as he halted, intending to skirt around Jekyll and retrieve the Winchester from the floor of the ramp where he had left it. Jekyll's right arm suddenly barred his path.

"I'll get it for you," the doctor offered but as he turned to do just that he saw Quatermain scoop the rifle from the ground.

"You shouldn't put further strain on your arm," Henry scolded, reaching for the rifle.

Deftly Allan pulled the Winchester from Henry's reach, objecting at the thought of someone else bearing Sawyer's rifle, a rifle whose twin he held in his other hand. Allan's eyes found Tom's and he could sense the other man's emotional connection to the Winchester. Side stepping Jekyll, Allan came to stand before Sawyer. Reverently he offered the rifle to the American spy. Relief sparkled in Sawyer's eyes as the rifle was returned to his care.

'_I should have known Quatermain would realize that the rifle was important to me. Maybe even in the way that Matilda is important to him._' Suddenly the other man's kindness made Tom unable to speak. So it was he could only offer Allan a nod of thanks and a grateful look, hoping the small gestures conveyed to the other man his sincerest thanks.

Whatever protests Henry was going to make over the exchange died as he saw the look pass between the two men. He didn't understand the symbolism but he understood the sentiment. "Well, yes, then let's make our way to your room, Tom." With gentle pressure he propelled Tom into motion and Quatermain fell into step beside the American.

"My room? Why my room? Quatermain's the one that needs stitches," Tom protested, his tone reminding Quatermain of a little boy.

"Because.." Jekyll began the start of another lecture.

"It's closer," Quatermain finished smoothly, shooting Jekyll a warning glare across Sawyer.

Seeing the wisdom in the deception, Jekyll did not protest.

"Liar," Sawyer accused, his eyes twinkling as they met Quatermain's.

"If you don't believe me we can pace it out," Allan replied, saying aloud as he took one then two steps forward, "One…Two…"

Tom gave Allan a playful shove, "You think you're so smart."

"Oh I know I'm smart," Allan replied with a cocky smile.

Henry almost sighed at their antics. It was going to be a long journey to Sawyer's room.

TBC

Well that's all I've got so far. Thanks for "tuning" in!

Replies to review:

Sorry but these will have to be shorter today but please know I love and value each and every review!

Ten Mara: Well Tom's barrier's are crumbling and the bonding is starting to happen! I hope to cover more of that next chapter so I hope you hang in here. Thanks so much for your wonderful support!

Sabrina: I'm so pleased that you like and see the complexity of Tom! It does my heart good to hear that! Thanks for your awesome review! And I should have sent my muse to you 'cause it she was definitely misbehaving!

Amanda Hope: Hope this short chapter didn't disappoint you. Thank you so much for giving me such wonderful compliments.

Silverkitcat: Thanks for taking the time to read AND review my story! As for Huck's death, it was mentioned in the book and also in the "missing scenes" on the DVD. It kinda devastated me. I wanted to believe Tom and Huck would live forever, be rafting somewhere on the Mississippi River till the world ended. Guess that's why I had to try to write a fitting death scene/goodbye scene for the best friends. Hope you keep reading!

Julia: Well we had "some" of the big talk about Huck. I have to admit I'm a little nervous about your opinion on that scene. But I promise tom will open up more to Allan soon. Thanks for your wonderful review!

Sawyer Fan: I was so glad you liked my integration of movie scenes with my scenes. It wasn't easy and I've made it a point to NOT try to write another story within a movie's scenes. Thank you for your continued support!

Shakai: Thanketh you for the wonderfulth review! I loved that you liked my dialog and Tom's southern drawl! Glad you like the emotional and physical torture of our dear Tom! Thanks again for your kind words!

StriderX: Thanks for another wonderful review! So glad the emotions last chapter didn't come off as over the top. I hope the same can be said of this chapter!

Laura B: Thanks for your wonderful support! And eventually Tom and Allan's friendship will give both men some well earned peace. So I hope you hang in there as this story muddles it's way along.

Claudette: Your review really encouraged me when I needed it most! Sorry that I didn't get far on tending to Tom or Allan's injuries this chapter. I had high hopes for covering that this time but my muse had other ideas…or rather had no ideas at all. Well, next chapter will cover those scenes and I look forward to writing Tom's weakness. Thanks for your wonderful support.

Thanks so much for honoring me by reading my story! See ya next time!

Cheryl W.


	10. Chapter 10

Peace

By: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I don't own The League of the Extraordinary Gentlemen or anything in conjunction with LXG nor am I making a profit from this story. No copyright infringement is intended. Sadly, I do not own Tom Sawyer either.

Author's Note: My apologies for the horrible wait for this chapter! I had the worst case of writing block! Thanks to everyone who still has an interest in reading this story! (A big old thank you goes out to StriderX' for expressing a desire to read more of this story!)

Chapter 10

Allan was not a man to hover. He was decisive and self assured and nearly impervious to worry, or had been…until Harry died…until Sawyer came into his life. '_I'm bloody hovering,_' he internally growled, as he kept pace at Sawyer's side. To the untrained eye, the spy's progress through the corridors of the Nautilus seemed effortless, Jekyll's grip on the man superfluous but Quatermain knew better. He saw the flare of pain in Sawyer's green eyes, detected a shadow of rigidity in the spy's motions and felt weariness seep from behind the agent's barriers.

Clenching his hand into a fist, Allan battled against his yearning to offer Sawyer his support, support the younger man would not welcome. The agent was barely tolerating Henry's assistance with good graces. Having eliminated that course of action, at least for the time being, Quatermain engaged in the other crucial attribute of a hunter: the ability to wait and watch, readying oneself to leap into action if and when the time came. So the hunter set to that task. Protectively he watched over Tom, calling on his keen insight to interpret every emotion that crossed the younger man's features or sparked in the green eyes, poised to aid Sawyer if the need arose.

Mere minutes later, Allan watched the resilient spy's steps slow, his lively eyes dull significantly in pain and his face begin to regress back to the pallor it sported a few nights prior. The transformation was heartbreaking to Quatermain.

Relief washed over Sawyer as he and his companions turned a corner, bringing them within paces of his room. Whether it was stamina or stubbornness that had kept him on his feet, both were deserting him, rapidly, leaving him weary to the bone and hurting from head to toe. '_I'm starting to feel like I did that time my raft was smashed into kindling ,and got knocked out and was sinking to the bottom of the Mississippi.' _With a mixture of fondness and sorrow he remembered who had rescued him that time, good ole Huckleberry Finn.

Having let his concentration on maintaining his façade of wellness waiver for an instant, Tom stumbled slightly, the action barely disrupting the rhythm of his progress. Before the vain hope that his falter had not registered with Jekyll or Quatermain could fully come to life, Allan's strong hand wrapped around his arm.

Chagrined, Tom shot a look to Allan, whose eyes blazed, not with disappointment but with concern at the younger man's weakening. The spy, knowing his pretense of strength was slipping fast, knew he had two options ahead of him: fortify his next layer of defense against such displays of frailty or simply admit to his weakness. The first response was his standard course of action which he had developed as a child when the pain and vulnerability of having lost his parents almost broke his spirit until he constructed the walls to shut out those feelings. And that conditioning had proven an invaluable tool when he chose a profession of danger and intrigue. Yes, that was the choice that came most naturally to him. The second option, to willingly reveal his weakness, that required something that he had only bestowed on one person: Trust. Trust that Huck Finn had never betrayed.

Quatermain, having geared up for bravado and denials from the American, was surprised and worried when Sawyer remained silent and unresisting. Immediately, fearing that the spy was suffering more severely than he had surmised, Allan stepped closer to Tom, ready to fully support the younger man should his strength fail him completely.

Sawyer broke his silence, his admission stunning Allan. "Guess I'm not gonna set that world record after all." Tom was even surprised at the weary acceptance in his own voice.

Caught off guard by Sawyer's seeming capitulation to defeat, Allan knew what that concession had cost the proud, resilient man. As he searched Tom's eyes, he saw hope and misgiving intermingled in the younger man's unflinching gaze. Unerringly, Allan realized that there was only one explanation for the spy's lowered barriers. He trusted him…even enough to reveal his vulnerability to him. That undeserving honor scared and humbled Quatermain, crushing the breath from him.

Seeing that Quatermain wasn't going to reply to Sawyer's words, Henry lightly countered, "I would have had to box your ears if you had set that record," the threat in the words obliterated by one of his trade mark smiles that just barely curled up his lips. Sawyer responded with a matching small smile

Jekyll's reply broke Quatermain from his stupor. "Well, that's kinder than what I would have done," he blustered in a tone too warm and with eyes too alight to exude any malice or conceal the effect Sawyer's trust was having on his heart.

With Quatermain and Jekyll's replies, Tom knew with unequalled relief that his trust had not been misplaced in Allan or even in the mercurial Jekyll. The aching loneness that had been strangling him since Huck's death loosened it's chokehold on his soul. He wasn't alone. Quatermain had been right, he wasn't meant to walk this world alone. Trustingly, Tom leaned more heavily on Quatermain, letting the other man provide the support he was so generously offering to him.

Allan's throat constricted as Tom leaned into his support, realizing that Sawyer was putting more than his wounded body into his care. He was trusting Allan to guard and treasure his soul as well. '_I won't let you down, son_,' Allan vowed, wrapping his arm around Sawyer's waist to better support the wounded man. Worry shot through him as he felt the heat and trembling emanating from Sawyer. His eyes swung across to Henry's, their brown depths demanding if the other man sensed what he could. With a small nod, was Henry's silent reply a moment before the threesome stood before Sawyer's room.

"Here we are," Henry announced as he swung open Sawyer's door. Carefully, he and Allan maneuvered Sawyer through the doorway and to his bed.

Reluctantly, Allan dropped his hold on Sawyer and hovered at Henry's side as the doctor gently pressed the American down to sit on the bed.

"I have to get some supplies. I'll be right back," Henry said, his tone half apology and half order as he stalked purposefully for the door.

"Don't rush on my account," Tom called out to the doctor's departing back, earning him a parting snort from Henry.

"Or mine," Quatermain added, gamely. However, when he set his sights upon Sawyer, none of that mirth was visible. Instead worry radiated off of him in an almost tangible wave. Unprepared and unaccustomed to such tender concern for his well being, Tom dropped his eyes to his hands in his lap.

Quatermain, seeing that Sawyer was uneasy with his show of raw emotion, forced his worry behind his own well fortified barriers. Softly the adventurer stated, "I think it's safe to disarm ourselves," reaching for the rifle the secret service agent still held in a death grip.

Tom was almost surprised to see that the rifle was still in his possession, his hand white due to his tenacious grip on the barrel. Raising his head, he met Quatermain's patient gaze. Slowly Sawyer offered up the rifle to the hunter's outstretched hand. Even certain that Allan firmly had the rifle in hand, it was a moment before Tom could force his hand to give up its prize.

Allan did not remark on Sawyer's reluctance to relinquish the rifle, instead, with measured care, he walked across the room and placed the two identical rifles on the table besides Tom's ransacked bag. The secret service badge caught the hunter's eye but he only gave it a quick glance before returning to Sawyer's side. The secret service agent, with his left hand, was trying to unsnap the holster strap that rested under his right arm, a grimace of pain on his quickly paling face.

"Let me do that," Allan insisted softly, gently pushing aside Sawyer's hand. With callused hands, the hunter gripped the leather holster and forced the snap to give way. Only Tom's slight flinch indicated that the action had reawakened pain in the secret service agent's bullet wound. With exceptional gentleness, Allan lifted the holster from Tom's right arm and slid it down the younger man's left arm. "You tolerate pain well. Too well," Allan quietly stated, admiration and sadness sparkling in his eyes. Walking away, he placed the handguns on the table with the rifles.

Wanting to lighten Allan's mood, Tom replied, laying on his backwoods charm, "You know as well as I do that trouble and pain always go hand in hand. Now I know it's hard to believe but I was a real hellion as a boy. If I didn't track down trouble, it came and found me."

Coming back to stand before Tom, Allan wore a devious smile, "I guess some things don't change." Then, without warning, Quatermain swayed on his feet.

Utilizing his lightening fast reflexes, Tom jumped from the bed and seized the older man's shoulders, reciprocating the support the other man had given him only moments prior. "You alright?" his eyes boring into Allan's with worry and inspection.

"I'm fine….just like you are…" Allan answered flippantly, fighting the dizziness that tilted his horizon. He didn't protest as Tom levered him down to sit on the bed. A moment later, when his vision restored itself, he realized that Tom was no longer seated on the bed but instead was standing there worriedly hovering over **him**.

"You're not supposed to be off this bed. Now take a seat," he ordered, his hand shooting out, latching onto Sawyer's wrist, pulling the younger man back to his original spot on the bed. But Quatermain couldn't help but wince as his knife wound protested the rash mobility he forced from his left arm.

Seeing the other man's pain, Tom, instead of protesting, meekly sank down onto the mattress at Allan's left side and worriedly studied the other man's pained features. Sawyer's uncharacteristic obedience earned him a wary look from the adventurer. "We make quite a pair, don't we?" Tom asked with a cocky smile, finding that he was content, even happy to be at Quatermain's side.

Allan warmly regarded the young man at his side that had come to mean so much to him. With a laugh, he patted Tom's knee. "We do, son, we do."

The word '_son_' reeled in Tom's head, foreign and yet so comforting.

Bustling back into the room, Henry asked, "Now who's to be first?" as he looked back and forth between his victims.

Without missing a beat, Quatermain and Sawyer both said, "He is" and pointed to each other.

As if prepared for such nonsense from his patients, Henry nonplussed declared, "Fine, I'll choose," as he set his supplies on the nightstand, wet a cloth and approached the two stubborn wounded men.

A silent curse flew through Sawyer's mind as Jekyll came to a halt before him. He steeled for pain as the doctor pressed the cloth against his head wound. He gave a start when Henry took hold of his left hand but when the doctor began to gently guide his hand to the cloth he understood Henry's intentions.

"Can you hold it there without discomfort?" Henry asked, not noting any new pain flaring in the American's gaze but still worried that Sawyer's other injuries might be aggravated by the action.

"Sure, I can hold it," Tom replied, watching with smug satisfaction as the doctor moved to the man seated on his right.

The gloating smile that Allan had sported moments prior vanished from his face as he realized that he was the one 'lucky' enough to be patched up first.

"Now let's get to work stitching you up, Allan," Henry said with entirely too much pleasure for Allan's taste. Before the adventurer could offer up any protests, Henry began to remove Quatermain's vest. Instantly, Quatermain was insisting that he could remove the vest himself, making Jekyll's task all that much harder as he shoved the adventurer's hands aside so he could try and complete the task.

When Jekyll's progression was halted by a snagged button on Quatermain's shirt, Tom reached his right hand over to release the snag. His hand never completed the journey. Instead with a cry of pain, Sawyer retracted his right arm and clutched the appendage to his chest as agony from his bullet wound and ribs nearly overpowered his senses. '_Wrong move, Sawyer! Wrong move!_' he rebuked himself, bowing his head and bracing his ribs with his left arm.

Sawyer's cry of pain immediately drew Quatermain and Jeykll's attention to the agent. In concern, Quatermain almost reached a hand out to touch Sawyer's right shoulder but stopped before he made contact, fearing that any touch would only cause the younger man further pain. "Are you alright?" he asked, almost immediately after the words were utter he cursed himself for the stupidity of the question. '_Of course the boy isn't alright!_'

Tom, uncertain if he could manage words, simply gave a small nod in response, hoping that Quatermain and Jekyll would let his blatant lie pass. Missing the pointed look that passed between the other gentlemen in his room, the American was startled when gentle hands wrap around his arms. Unfailingly he knew the Henry stood directly in front of him.

Henry spoke quietly, like he was dealing with a skittish animal instead of a spy who knew the feel of pain only too well, "Let's lie you down."

Drawing in a shaking breath, Tom let it out slowly and raised his head to meet Henry's compassionate gaze. "I'm alright sitting," he reassured, though his voice was strained. Determinedly he maneuvered his right hand down to his lap, wincing slightly at the pull the action had on his bullet wound and ribs. "Besides, you'll make me sit up when you wrap my ribs," he rationalized.

Unable to fight that logic, Henry looked to Quatermain for another valid argumentative point. With one look at the adventurer's alarmed features, the doctor knew that rational arguments were the last thing on Quatermain's mind.

Quietly, knowing how the suggestion would be accepted, Henry offered, "I can give you something for the pain."

Sawyer's negative response was instantaneous. "No, save it for Nemo's men who are really injured."

It took Quatermain's last bit of control to not rebuke Sawyer's comment aloud. '_As if you're not really injured!_' But he knew what the spy's comeback would be to such a question, '_I've had worse_.' And the belief that Sawyer's reply would not be a lie made something clench in Allan's gut.

Indecisively, Jekyll looked to his two patients, uncertain, after this development, who should receive his attention first.

Calmly, Sawyer ordered, "Now patch up Quatermain," nodding toward Allan. "I'm not going anywhere."

'_I'll say you're not_,' Quatermain threatened internally, as Jekyll reset his sights on him.

"And you are not to make any attempt to aid me anymore either," Henry ordered sternly.

With a brash smile on his pale face, Sawyer shot back, "You're the sawbones, not me."

Henry, not sparing the energy to bristle at the derogatory nickname, completed removing Quatermain's vest and pulled the hunter's shirt off his left shoulder to have full access to the wound. With a wet cloth, Henry cleared the blood from the wound and pressed gently on the cut, causing Allan to stiffen in pain. "It doesn't seem too deep," Henry announced as he peered closely into the wound.

"You'ld feel differently if the knife had been sticking out of your shoulder," Allan groused, shooting a wink to Sawyer that elicited a smirk from the younger man.

Choosing to let the comment go unanswered, Henry stated, "I'll clean it and stitch it closed." Putting actions to words, he withdrew a vial from his bag, a vial Quatermain recognized from the night Jekyll had tended to Sawyer's gunshot wound.

A shiver coursed through Allan as sharp memories of that hellish night slammed into him, reminding him that he had nearly lost Tom before he had the joy of truly knowing him.

Sawyer, having seen Allan shiver, quietly asked, "Allan, are you alright?"

'_I am as long as you are_,' shot through Allan with brutal honesty. "I'm fine just worried about the steadiness of Jekyll's hands," he teased, a twinkle in his eyes.

"You are even more ungrateful than Sawyer for my expertise," Henry shot back, a smirk pulling on his lips. "Now I don't have to tell you how much this will hurt," he gently warned, his eyes holding shared memories with Alan's gaze. Quatermain merely nodded his head and clutched the mattress with his hands, bracing himself for a small portion of the agony that Sawyer had endured.

Jekyll's last statement baffled Tom, what did he mean that Quatermain knew how much the doused cloth would hurt? Had Henry tended to a wound to Quatermain before! Then, Tom remembered being torn from a comforting void by unquenchable agony, awaking to find Henry pressing a cloth to his gunshot wound. Unerringly he knew that whatever was in that vial had been on that cloth. Suddenly, Tom knew the men were talking about what **his** reaction to the contents of the vial had been. '_And Henry's telling Quatermain it'll **hurt**! **Hurt** is an understatement_!'

A moment later as Henry pressed the cloth to the hunter's knife wound, Allan belligerently concurred with Tom's thoughts as he jerked back from Jekyll's ministrations and thundered, "Ow! That bloody well hurts!" shooting a scathing look to Jekyll.

"Yes, but it cleans the wound and prevents infection from setting in," Henry replied, ruthlessly pressing the cloth again to Allan's shoulder, trying to ignore Allan's grunt of pain.

Clutching tighter to the mattress edge, Allan fought the urge to reaction as Sawyer had to this same process, namely grabbing Henry's hand and wrenching the cloth from his wound. '_And my wound's shallow, minor and not infected_,' he thought as he imaged the level of agony Tom must have felt at this same treatment. '_Bloody unbearable_!' he concluded, drawing in a ragged breath as Henry finally removed the merciless cloth, and shooting Tom a look of ever-increasing respect.

Reading the respect in Allan's look, Tom felt a blush color his cheeks. Whatever prompted that look, he knew he didn't deserve it.

Amused by the brash spy's blush, Allan stoically bore the stitches Henry carefully used to pull together his cut skin. '_You are one of kind, Sawyer, one of kind_.'

"There," Henry said, cutting the thread and eying up his handiwork. "All done. Now I think we should put your arm in a sling to minimize.."

"No," came Quatermain's retort, his eyes swinging from Sawyer's to Henry's, ensuring that the doctor saw the resolve in his eyes.

For an instant, Henry contemplated arguing his point but then the insanity of that action overcame him. "Alright then. Then it's unto Mr. Sawyer," he announced, washing and drying his hands before pulling a roll of bandage from his bag.

Seeing Henry's preparations for his next victim, dread entered Tom's gaze. With no offense meant to his present company, sawbones had never been numbered as his favorite sort of fellows to spent time with. Now after having found himself, with surprising regularity, at a doctor's mercy that dislike had blossomed into full aversion to their kind of help. He tightened his hold onto the bed under his hands to guarantee he didn't once again latch onto Jekyll's wrist to fend off the doctor's well meaning ministrations.

Having seen more than his share of cornered animals, Allan immediately recognized the flight or fight gleam in Tom's eyes. "So how did you end up as a secret service agent, Sawyer?" Quatermain questioned, attempting to provide a soothing distraction to the younger man. But when Tom looked to him with a raised eyebrow, Allan knew the spy saw through his manipulations as if he had just attempted to pull off a child's prank.

Without conscious thought, Tom's grip on the bed loosened at Quatermain's words, a welcome smirk bringing his pale features alive once again. "Is this your sad attempt to sooth my ruffled nerves while the good doctor does his thing?" he questioned with laughter in his tone, appreciating the other man's efforts even as he rebuked them.

Not one to back down, Quatermain countered, "Maybe or maybe I just thought we could pass the time with a meaningful conversation…"

"Right, right," Tom laughed back sarcastically before sobering as Henry stood before him, waiting for his permission to begin his ministrations. With a nod of his head, Tom gave his approval. Watching as Henry began to undid the bottoms of his shirt, Tom answered Quatermain's question, "I was recruited from the Pinkerton agency to work for the secret service."

"Pinkerton? As in the famous detective agency?" Henry interjected, endeavoring to remove Tom's shirt without hurting the young man.

Raising his right arm to aid the doctor's actions, Tom, with a flinch of pain, replied ruefully, "Famous? Infamous, maybe." The next moment, his motions were halted as Quatermain latched onto his right wrist and gently but determinedly straightened his arm down to his side. Then Allan gently freed Sawyer's arm from the shirt even as Jekyll performed the same task for his left arm. Divested of his shirt, Tom couldn't help but sneak a look at his right shoulder. To his relief no blood tinted the bandage but he feared that Henry would object to the bandage's now gray appearance. '_What did the man expect after a crash landing and barely escaping a rocket!'_

Quatermain's anguished whisper of "Ah, bloody hell, Sawyer," brought Tom's eyes to Allan's, blazing with denials.

But when Tom saw Allan's eyes did not rest on his right shoulder but instead upon his chest, Tom turned his inspection in that same direction. "Oh, great," he murmured at the sight of the horribly bruised skin that blanketed his chest and wrapped around his ribs, knowing that neither Jekyll nor Quatermain would let him downplay this blatant injury. Yet Sawyer couldn't prevent himself from still trying to brush aside the other men's concern with the injury. Sharing his look between Jekyll and Quatermain, he quirked, "I'm going to suggest Nemo install a strap in his next automobile to keep you in your seat." By Quatermain's angry, reprimanding comeback, Tom knew his efforts to lessen the worry in the hunter had failed miserably.

"A bloody strap isn't going to help when you drive the bloody car through a wall, send it hurling over a river, plow it into a building and have it flip upside down," Allan growled, unleashing his bottled up terror at Tom's ill fated ride.

Accustomed to reprimands, Sawyer offered an unrepentant smile to Quatermain. "You forgot about the rocket I called down upon the automobile…while I was still in it." Seeing that his words threatened to trigger Quatermain's infamous temper into erupting like a volcano, Tom soothed, "Don't worry, Quatermain. If I get to drive another automobile I promise…" here his smile lit up his whole face, "I won't let it get hit by a rocket."

"Bloody cocky American!" Allan sputtered, "Do you have any idea how close you came…"

Soberly, Tom cut in, "I know," his eyes meeting Allan's, the truth unspoken but acknowledged. "I'll be more careful, Allan," Tom softly promised, watching the tension drain from Quatermain at his words. Quietly he tacked on with a smirk, "'Sides, you keep forgetting, I'm not your responsibility."

It was Henry that responded to that statement, "Well, you're my responsibility right now, so let me exam you," he insisted as he pressed on Sawyer's brutalized skin.

Stiffening, Tom clenched his jaw to forestall a moan of pain at Jekyll's probing touch across his painfully aching chest and ribs. His eyes shot to Quatermain's as the adventurer's arm slid behind his back, effectively bracing him as he endured Henry's examination.

Quietly, Allan spoke, "When I care about someone, I take it to heart when they almost get themselves killed. And I try my damnest to keep them safe from harm. If you don't like that.." the older man gave Sawyer a cocky smile, "you shouldn't have been so bloody likeable."

Tom gave a snort of laughter but an instant later a cry of pain tore from him and he recoiled from Jekyll's touch as far as Allan's arm allowed.

"That rib is cracked," Jekyll supplied almost as an apology as he looked up and met Tom's pained expression. The doctor's deft hands ran across the next rib down, only to discover that he had another rib to add to the tally as Sawyer hissed in pain. "That one too."

With a voice breathless with pain, Tom groused, "They feel broken."

"They are cracked in a few places," Henry clarified, explaining the level of pain the spy had to be enduring.

Having moved closer to Tom to better support him, Allan unconsciously gripped tighter to the younger man at the ill news, heaping blame on himself for Sawyer's pain.

"That explains it," Sawyer replied calmly to Henry's news, as if he were familiar with such injuries. His next words confirmed it. "Wrap them tightly, cuts down on the pain."

Instead of rebuffing the spy for telling him how to do his job, Henry gave a nod, picked up the roll of bandage and began to wrap the cloth around Sawyer's torso, tightly as Sawyer had requested.

A grunt of pain escaped Tom as the doctor pulled the cloth snuggly against his cracked ribs, earning him Jekyll's questioning look. "It's alright, keep it tight."

Allan clenched his jaw as if it were him enduring the agony. In truth, he would rather endure pain himself than see it's effects on Tom. When he spoke, he wasn't sure if he meant to distract Sawyer or himself, "So how does one become a Pinkerton agent?"

"Normally, you have some experience keeping the law," Sawyer said as he watched Henry wrap the bandage around his torso. Looking up to Allan he gave his most roguish grin, "But me, I had experience breaking the law."

"Is this where I'm supposed to be shocked?" Allan shot back saucily with a raised eyebrow.

"I would have liked at least a little disbelief," Tom quirked back before continuing his answer. "Well, we stumbled onto a murder again but this time we caught the murderer before he could escape. Guess we impressed someone in Pinkerton 'cause they offered us jobs."

Quietly, Allan asked, already certain of the answer, "We?"

"Huck and I," Tom steadily replied, a spark of sadness gleaming in his eyes.

Finishing the task of wrapping Sawyer's ribs, Jekyll met Tom's eyes. "Now, let's have a look at your shoulder." Putting action to words, Henry tenderly unwound the gray bandage around Sawyer's right shoulder to reveal the stitched bullet wound. The sight drew the attention of Jekyll, Allan and Sawyer. Some stitches were torn, as evidenced by the sprinkling of blood that stained Tom's skin. With a wet cloth, Henry gently wiped away the blood, exposing three broken stitches and the pink tinge of the skin around the wound that exposed the resilient nature of the infection.

"It looks pretty good, right?" Tom stated more than asked, hopefulness in his tone as he moved his look from the wound to Henry's face.

Henry, shooting a look to Quatermain and seeing understanding in his eyes, turned his focus to Sawyer. "I'm sorry, Tom. I have to open the wound up again to try to eradicate the infection, " Henry's voice gentle with apology.

"Doc, don't you ever give out good news," Tom lightly teased, giving Jekyll's arm a companionable pat to let the doctor know that he did not hold him accountable for the ill news.

"I'll work on that, Tom," Henry weakly smiled back, sorry already for the pain the young man would endure again at his hands. Turning to his bag, he hurriedly searched it's contents before retrieving another vial, pulled the cork and handed it to Sawyer. "Take a swallow. It'll help with the pain."

Before Henry's was done talking, Sawyer was shaking his head. "No, I won't take medicine away from men who need it more. Even Nemo is not stocked up enough on medical supplies to treat all the crewmembers that were injured today. You want to help me, then help them. Give it to them."

Seeing the resolve and generosity of Sawyer's heart, Jekyll knew objecting would be a waste of breath or worse, it could dishearten the spy, who seemed already weighed down by some unholy burden. With sharp insight, Henry sensed that Tom's generosity, his sacrifice in this matter, could, by some means, lessen the young man's affliction. The revelation made Henry's choice crystal clear.

As Henry re-corked the vial and placed it back into his bag, Allan almost objected, he even drew in breath to do so. The noticeable relief in Tom's stance stalled his words. Instantly he came to the same conclusion as Henry had. Penance, it was all about penance with the young man. Penance he didn't need to pay for a sin he never committed.

"Alright then, let's get this task over with, shall we?" Jekyll gently said and with a nod of his head, enlisted Allan's help to ease Tom down upon the bed.

"Yeah, I would like that," Tom agreed with a self depreciating smile, readying himself to stalwartly face the coming pain. Watching Jekyll begin to pull back the covers of the bed, Tom knew he would once again find himself flat on his bed. Accepting that fate, he slowly made to stand up to allow Jekyll to pull back the covers fully. As if his intentions were known to Quatermain before he moved a muscle, Allan stood at the same time as Tom, tightening his arm around Sawyer and latching his other arm unto the man's arm to provide further support to the secret service agent.

Quickly, Jekyll pulled the covers down. Seeing that task was complete, Tom sank back onto the bed. Discovering that Allan had repositioned his hold so his weathered yet undeniably steady hands wrapped around his arms, Tom held Allan's sympathetic eyes. "Remind me to pass on the next assignment that involves saving the world. It's hell on my health," Tom joked, attempting to ease the darkness he saw glittering in the older man's eyes.

It worked, for Allan couldn't hold back a bark of laughter at the spy's words. "Saving the world is always a terrible pain in the backside," he agreed with wry wit.

"**Now** you tell me," Tom accused, light breaking through the pain reflected in his eyes. Accepting his fate, Tom moved to lie down.

Quatermain did not relinquish his hold on Sawyer but guided the man gently down to lie on the bed. Then, turning around, Allan lifted Tom's legs onto the bed. Quickly he removed the spy's shoes.

Ashamed at having Quatermain perform that task, Tom grumbled, "I haven't been tucked in since I was a kid, Quatermain."

Allan's eyes flew to Henry's before meeting Tom's. "Wrong, Jekyll and I tucked you in a few nights ago…course you were unconscious at the time."

Tom scoffed without malice, "You just love holding that weakness over my head. I sorely regret that you found out about the gunshot wound. And I have a feeling I'm going to regret it even more in a few seconds," he said, watching as Henry crossed over to the other side of the bed and seemed to tower over him, a scalpel in hand.

'_If we didn't find out about the wound, you wouldn't be alive right now_,' ran through Allan's mind but he didn't say the words aloud. He and Tom had already crossed swords at that issue, there was no advantage to going over it again. Deciding that the best thing he could do for Tom was to give him his support, Allan drew the chair he had occupied a few nights prior up to the bed, took a seat, and picked up Sawyer's hand in his. "So, now you are going to promise me that you'll do better taking care of yourself in the future, right?"

Tom, having turned his head to watch Allan's actions, had initially tensed as Allan grasped his hand, unaccustomed to such contact or support. But then the comfort of the gesture washed over him, giving him an anchor against the storm to come. "You're like a dog with a bone, aren't you?"

"I don't give up on what I want. So are you going to give me that promise now?" Allan pressed, nodding to Jekyll to begin his ministrations.

Hating the pain he was about to unleash, Henry gritted his teeth before slicing the stitches with the scalpel.

To Tom if felt like Henry had ripped the wound apart with his bare hands. Nearly crushing the hunter's callused hand that held his, Tom stiffened in agony, clamped his jaw tightly shut and drew in a sharp breath.

Allan held tightly to Tom's hand, not wincing as the man's grip threatened to crush the bones in his hand. Sparing a glance to see Henry's work, he saw the doctor begin to painstakingly pull the cut stitches from the wound. Allan focused back on the white, pain ridden face of Tom Sawyer. "You said you stumbled onto a murder "again"? This a regular occurrence for you…like getting shot?" he softly conversed, willing to do what measures he could to distract the man from his agony.

With a voice choked with pain, Tom replied, his pain pulled eyes focusing on Allan's face, "Guess so…if two times is a regular occurrence."

"Regular enough," Allan returned, drawing closer to Tom as the man gripped his hand even tighter.

Having extracted the last stitch, the doctor again washed over the reopened wound with a wet cloth, his patient stiffening under his hand but not pulling away. "Stitches are out…" he began as Tom rolled his head to face him.

"That was the easy part, wasn't it?" Tom guessed, a sad smile of acceptance on his pale face as his hand loosened its crushing grip on Quatermain's hand, soaking up the reprieve from the sharpest of the pain while it lasted. Henry's nod was hardly necessary, he vividly remembered the agony that had ripped him from that comforting void mere days ago. What he had experience so far today was just the preliminary round. "Go on, do what needs doing," he said, his words and trusting look granting free license to Jekyll.

Touched and yet troubled by the young man's trust in him, Henry hesitated a moment before letting the doctor in him take over in a fashion not so unlike Hyde. Dousing a clean cloth with the contents of the vial that he had used to clean Quatermain's wound, Henry couldn't help but let his gaze flicker to Quatermain's. Dread filled the hunter's usually calm eyes and pain seemed to be etched in his features. With a pang of melancholy, Henry knew that Allan was experiencing the heartbreak of a father who was cruelly shown that he could not protect his child from pain. With memories he thought long since forgotten, Henry remembered his own loving father's regard, his encouragement, his protection, his faith that his son would become the greatest doctor…the greatest healer. '_I thought I could save my father with my potion…instead I condemned my own soul by unleashing Hyde._'

Breaking free of that familiar condemnation, Henry looked down to the pale young man that had risked his very life to save Venice. '_This is a poor reward for his heroics today_.' With a brave nod of his head, Sawyer gave Jekyll the consent to start on the next procedure.

When Jekyll pressed the medicated cloth into the wound, Tom gave a sharp cry of pain and tried to force his struggling body to remain still under the doctor's hand. When Allan's free hand pressed his right shoulder down to the bed, he welcomed the strong unyielding hold. Clamping his eyes shut and clenching his jaw, Tom tried to channel the agony, his hand gripping Allan's hand so fiercely that it trembled, as Henry seemingly unmercifully delved deeper into the wound.

To say Sawyer's grip didn't hurt Quatermain would have been a terrible lie but it was a hurt Allan bore gladly to lessen Tom's agony, a hurt he even deemed that he deserved. '_How could I let Tom endure this! Twice! I should have forced him to stay on the bloody ship! I knew he was still warm to the touch, still fighting the infection! How did I bloody think he'd fair after being in the horrific crash with Nemo's damn contraption!' _With anguish he studied Tom's agony ridden face. '_He doesn't deserve this!' _

Without warning, a choked yell erupted from Sawyer, the agony causing him to jerk away from Henry's ministrations, bringing him to the very edge of the bed. Alarmed, Allan sprang from his chair and stood by the edge of the bed the young wounded man teetered on, his hands never relinquishing their positions in Sawyer's hand or upon his shoulder. "Easy, son, Easy," Allan soothed, his own heart pounding in his chest at Tom's tangible agony. He was nearly undone as Sawyer's green eyes opened, stealing his breath away with the depths of their unhidden pain. Instinctively his hand abandoned Sawyer's shoulder and tenderly brushed back the sweat soaked bangs that hung in the young man's eyes before his palm came to rest on the spy's cheek.

Henry hated to interrupt the tender scene between the would be father and son, "I..I've cleansed it as well as I could. I'll stitch it up again."

"Alright," Tom breathlessly replied, swallowing hard he struggled to regain the normal measure of his intake of air. When the needle sank into his already raw flesh, Tom felt his air leave him in a whoosh, which was barely concealed as a grunt. Locking his jaw, he ground his teeth together for the duration of the torture.

Sliding his hand from Sawyer's face down to his shoulder, Allan gave a reassuring squeeze to the taut muscles under his touch. Whatever boyish naivety Sawyer's looks emitted, Allan had come to see the hardened resolve and steely strength that was beneath the veneer. It made him proud as much as it made him sad for he knew only too well the source of that kind of strength: a hellish gauntlet of bitter suffering and despair.

Henry, with a skill that told Quatermain that Jekyll had been hard at work mending the Parisians while Hyde had done his worst to wipe them from the earth, quickly restitched the wound as if he could do it blindfolded and not slant a row of the stitches. "All done," Jekyll breathed in relief as if he himself were enduring the agony of each stitch, noting that Sawyer's taut body relaxed and his hand relinquished it's death grip on Allan's hand when he uttered those words. "Can you sit up so I can properly wrap a bandage around it?" his inquiry tentative and gentle, wary that the young man's pride would answer too boldly for the spy's body's wellbeing. He need not have worried.

Meeting Henry's assessing gaze, the spy gave his reply quietly and lacking in it's usual pride and spirit. "I'll need some help."

Immediately, Allan retorted, a smile weakening the worry in his expression, "Oh, getting help wasn't an option, my boy. Now let's get you up for a spell." Putting words to action, Allan, taking a seat on the bed beside Sawyer, securely gripped Sawyer's left arm with one hand and gently slid his other hand under Sawyer's shoulders as Tom's made an effort to sit up. Slowly and with infinite gentleness, Allan eased Sawyer into a sitting position, striving hard to not aggravate the spy's numerous injuries with his bracing arm.

When Sawyer was fully upright, Allan took one look at the bone whiteness of the spy's features and, fearing that Sawyer would pass out, he instantly drew the young man against his chest. To Allan's surprise, Tom didn't protest the action. Instead, with a relieved sigh, the young man dropped his head forward to lean against Allan's neck.

"Wake me up when we leave port," Tom murmured, unconsciousness already pulling him under its spell.

Suddenly the young man went boneless in Allan's grasp, forcing the adventurer to quickly wrap his other arm around Sawyer's already abused waist so the young man would not topple forward right out of his protective embrace. For the second time in his short acquaintance with the American, Allan found himself fully entrusted with Sawyer's weakened body and ravaged soul. No matter how acutely that first experience had affected Allan, it paled in comparison with the overwhelming emotions that assaulted him now, though Sawyer's condition was not dire as it had previously been. For this time, Tom didn't just remind him of his son…now he felt like he **was** his son.

TBC

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Replies to Reviews:

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StriderX: Where would I be without your wonderful, caring support! Thank you so much for the encouraging 2nd email! It really touched my heart that you wanted to read more of my story and you were worried that I was either stumped or quitting! (I was definitely stumped…like into the ground and quitting didn't seem like such a bad idea a week ago!) Thank you for accepting my faults and giving me that much appreciated encouragement to continue! And you know I love that I almost had you crying last chapter. (I know, I'm mean …but you already know that!) Your compliments mean the world to me! Thank you again for being a wonderful friend!

Shakai: It's so awesome that you enjoy my characterization of Tom and the banter that I so love to write! And the fact that you love Tom emotional torture…I think that cements us as friends! Thank you so much for your wonderful compliments!

Laura B: Hope you're still hanging in there! Thanks for your support!

Julia: Thank you for your wonderful review! It's so rewarding to know you enjoy the "playfulness and sarcasm" that I tried to write with some credibility. As for Henry's part in the story, I'm amazed how many times I've put him into the story and how much I've come to like his character. Glad you like to see him as well. Thanks again for your support!

Claudette: Ah…as for your confusion on a turn of phrase last chapter…the confusion is my fault. I knew what I wanted to express but did a poor job of conveying it. What I wanted to express was that Tom realized that if he had been killed, Huck would now be experiencing pain and guilt and loneliness and the desire for revenge…just like Tom was now. A heavy burden to wish on anyone. Sorry about mishandling that section. Thank you so much for your friendship! I always enjoy your insight and guidance. And yes, I have to admit it did seem like three characters from LOTR have been influencing our heroes in this story…I'll have to banish those elves and ranger back to Middle earth where they belong. After all, they have their own world to save from a world war…Thanks again for your wonderful review!

Sawyer Fan: Thank you for your patience and wonderful support! Glad you liked Tom's crumbling defenses…I'm a sap for that kind of stuff too! Thanks again for your review!  
Ten Mara: I loved getting your review! I'm so happy that you enjoy reading about the intricate details of Tom and Allan's relationship! And your words made me realize that Tom was truly in need of Henry's support which helped me get this chapter together. As for the 'leader of men' speech…that'll hit next chapter. Thank you so much for your wonderful support!

Amanda Hope: Your compliments and faith in my writing had me smiling! I'm so glad I didn't disappoint you last chapter! Thanks so much for taking the time to read and review this story with such generosity.

BlueJelloFan: Thank you so very much for your wonderful review! It rocked! One of the best compliments I can get is when someone reads something longwinded that I wrote in one sitting! Thank you for taking the time to write me that encouraging review!

Well…that's all folks until next time. I 'think' my writer's block is gone but you never can tell! Thanks for everyone who took the time to read this chapter!

Cheryl W.


	11. Chapter 11

Peace

By: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I don't own The League of the Extraordinary Gentlemen or anything in conjunction with LXG nor am I making a profit from this story. No copyright infringement is intended. Sadly, I do not own Tom Sawyer either.

Chapter 11

A little over two hours later, Allan stood over the sleeping form of Tom Sawyer, regretful at the prospect of ripping the wounded man from his well deserved reprieve from pain. The light that spilled in from the hallway lit the secret service agent's youthful features in a soft glow, making the three stitches on Sawyer's temple seem ugly and out of place on such a peaceful face. '_At least he wasn't awake to feel Jekyll put those stitches in_,' Allan thought with some satisfaction. Jekyll, with his help, had bandaged Sawyer's bullet wound, tenderly resettled him back upon the bed and then swiftly dealt with the cut to the spy's forehead. It was then that the doctor's sharp eyes had fallen to Quatermain and he ordered the hunter to his room for some rest, refusing to give a quarter. Reluctantly Allan had left Sawyer's side but only after securing a promise from Henry that he would wake **him **and not Sawyer when the ship left port.

Henry had lived up to that bargain. Now Allan felt turmoil at fulfilling his own oath to Sawyer. He had already delayed this moment by an hour, for it was only now that Mina and Jekyll could be spared from the medical ward. '_The boy needs his sleep more than he needs to be involved in some meeting where more accusations and regrets will be unearthed than solutions_.' Allan's heart panged at the thought of Sawyer not being at his side, at the spy's anger and possible hurt at the exclusion. But most of all, Allan knew Sawyer deserved to be at the meeting, he was as much a part of the league as Quatermain himself.

That thought decided it but it didn't do anything to lessen Allan's regret at having to awaken Sawyer. Standing at the head of the bed, Allan gazed tenderly down to the sleeping secret service agent. "Tom," he called softly, unwilling to startle the man to awareness. When that call didn't garner a response, Allan called a little louder, "Tom, it's time to get up."

Rolling his head to the right as if he was attuned to the voice, Tom murmured without opening his eyes, "It's Saturday, Aunt Polly…no school..no church."

The words caught Allan off guard, as if his musings on how young Sawyer looked in the soft light had transformed the sleeping youth. Tenderly he stroked the boy's blond tresses, "Sawyer, it's Allan. We're going to have a meeting."

Forcing open his eyes as if they had been glued shut, Tom blinked repeatedly before the figure standing over his bed came into blurry focus. "Allan?" he croaked, his mouth and throat horribly dry and his thoughts fuzzy.

With visible concern, Allan gently asked, "How are you feeling, Tom?"

Finally managing to get Allan into focus, Tom saw the depth of the older man's apprehension at his possible reply. "Are you looking for the truth here or will you let me slide with some manly bravado?" he quirked, beginning to push back the covers only to freeze when he become acutely aware that Allan's hand lightly rested on his head. He didn't want to break that contact, to toss it aside like it meant nothing to him when it meant the world to him. How many times had he envisioned his father at his side, teaching him to fish, to fight, his father's hand steadying him when he stumbled or carrying him to bed when he would fall asleep on the floor when he was playing toy soldiers, offering him words of wisdom that he would follow all the days of his life! Now, probably with little thought to his actions, Allan had bestowed a wonderful gift to him, had unknowingly and without deep intentions, made some dream of Sawyer's come true. For an instant, for a blinking of his eyes, Tom had felt like he wasn't alone anymore, that his father stood at his side, worriedly, guarding him against any harm, had his hand resting on his head in a gesture that bespoke of his love.

Tears almost welled in Tom's eyes. '_Don't go to pieces, Sawyer! Act nonchalant, as if your own father stood at your bed every morning, that his hand rested on your head more times than you could ever count. For pete sake, don't overreact to Allan's simple kindness!'_

Though Sawyer's remark had been flippant, Allan found his worry too profound to allow him to match the spy's lightheartedness when the younger man's motion to throw back the covers came to an abrupt halt. Leaning over Tom, his eyes probing the younger man's green gaze, Allan soothed, misinterpreting Sawyer's immobility as an indicator of the pain and weakness surging through the spy, "Easy, just lie still for a moment."

Swallowing his emotions, Tom gave a small lopsided smile, "I'm alright, Quatermain. But I could use a hand sitting up," readily revealing his physical weakness to provide a smoke screen to his emotional upheaval. For a moment, Tom saw indecision war in Quatermain's dark eyes, then without resignation, Allan pulled the covers back from Sawyer, giving the American his answer to his request for aid.

Sliding his hand from Tom's head and gently slipping it behind the wounded man's shoulders while his other hand took a firm hold on Sawyer's right forearm, Allan ordered, "Move slowly."

With a 'you've got to be kidding' look to Quatermain, Tom grumbled with shallow outtakes of air as he, with Allan's assistance, painfully levered himself into a seated position, "You act like I **could** move quickly." A grunt of pain cut off his smart aleck retort, his ribs protesting his upright position.

Watching Tom's face go white, his arm bracing his ribs as the pain assaulted him, Allan clenched his teeth, biting back words of worry that he knew the secret service agent wouldn't welcome. "I've underestimated you too often, boy. I won't do it again," pride and respect flowing in his words and from his brown eyes.

Pushing back the pain to a place where he could almost cut himself off from it, Sawyer eased his tense stance and exhaled, meeting Allan's ill concealed worry soaked expression. "I appreciate the vote of confidence. Right now it's misplaced but I still appreciate it," Tom quirked.

"Humbleness? From you?" Quatermain said, arching an eyebrow. "You must have hurt your head worse than Jekyll realized," he joked, raising his hand as if to re-inspect the stitched cut.

Playfully swiping away Quatermain's reaching hand, Tom snorted, "Very funny. Now why don't you make yourself useful and hand me my shoes."

"I'll do one better, I'll put them on," Allan countered, retrieving the shoes that were at the foot of the bed. Kneeling, he slid the first shoe on Tom's unresisting foot before freezing and shooting a suspicious look up to the too complacent Sawyer. The smug satisfaction in the spy's eyes told the hunter that he had played right into Sawyer's hands. "You tricked me, didn't you? You planned that I would put on your shoes for you the whole time."

Without an ounce of denial or regret, Tom drawled with a wide smile, "You'd be a good guy to have around when I have a fence to paint."

"I don't know what that means but somehow I don't like it," Allan replied, his growl lacking any trace of rancor as he finished lacing up the spy's shoe laces and came to his feet. He was about to ask the secret service agent if he felt he could stand up when Sawyer came to his feet. Instantly Allan's hands wrapped around Sawyer's forearms, fearful that the wounded man would falter and harm himself further.

Touched by the hunter's oblivious concern, Tom gently assured, "I'm alright. I'll take things easy, I promise."

Reluctantly Allan let his hands slip from Sawyer. "That's not the promise I was looking for?" he accused, his warm regard softening the intenseness of his words.

Seriousness clouded Tom's eyes, "I've sworn to do my duty..even at the cost of my own life. I thought you of all people would understand that pledge."

Emotion thickened Allan's words, "I might have understood…would have...before Harry died." He stepped closer to Tom, his eyes piercing into the spy's, "My loyalty to that **duty** killed my son. I **won't** let it kill someone else I care about."

Shocked to realize that Allan spoke about him, referred to him with his vow, Tom paused a moment before he made his gentle, quiet, reply. "Maybe it wasn't your loyalty to duty that caused your son to join your mission, maybe it was his own loyalty."

"Yes, to me," Allan bitterly growled with self hatred.

"To his country," Tom corrected, "Loyalty to a pledge he made to himself to fulfill his duty to queen and country. A duty he was proud and honored to perform…just like you once were."

Allan felt like the breath had been knocked from him, leaving him grasping for air…for the truth. '_Did Harry join the mission for duty's sake…not for my sake? Did he die thinking I would be proud of him, of his sacrifice, that his duty had been fulfilled? Only to have me curse his sacrifice, abandon honor, forsake morality? Did I taint what good Harry had hoped to accomplish in his last hour by clinging to guilt and bitterness and revenge?'_

Seeing anguish distort Quatermain's features instead of a lightening of his burden of guilt, Tom laid his hand on the right side of Allan's neck. "Your son's death wasn't your fault Allan. You said that no man travels this world alone but you let your hurt blind you to the second truth. Every man walks his own path. Your son chose to take up the call to duty…just like Huck did. Just like I do. And sometimes that duty…" Tom faltered his voice wavering before he swallowed, drew in a steadying breath and finished, "costs us more than we can bear to lose but if we don't hold the line, if we aren't willing to make sacrifices …who will stand and fight? Who will stop the Fantoms in the world? Who will carry on the fight that Huck died for…that Harry died for, if not us?"

Tears escaped from Quatermain's eyes and, reaching a hand around the nap of Tom's neck, he drew the young man to him. Then Allan bowed his head until his forehead rested against Sawyer's. "We'll carry on the fight," Allan choked out, "You, me, this blasted league..we'll fight and we'll bloody win. I owe it to my son."

"And I owe it to Huck," Tom fervently stated, closing his eyes and letting the comfort of Allan's presence ease away the doubts that clung to his soul, doubts that they would win, that he would finish the job Huck had so passionately begun.

Lifting his head, Allan gently slid his hand under Tom's chin and tilted the spy's head up so he could see the green eyes he had come to know so well. "I think we better get to Nemo's meeting or the bloody 'pirate' will have us swabbing the deck," Quatermain's joking slander of Nemo caused Sawyer's mouth to lift into a smile.

Side stepping away form Allan, Tom walked to his travel bag saying as he went, "Deck? This boat doesn't have a deck, Quatermain."

"Sure it does…it's the top of this monstrosity and it just happens to go underwater," Allan countered, watching as Sawyer pulled a clean shirt from his luggage. Before Tom could begin to try and struggle to get the shirt on, Allan was at his side. "Let me have that," he said, snatching the shirt from the younger man's hands and sliding the sleeve up Sawyer's arm, gently settling it over the younger man's back and sliding the other sleeve up Sawyer's other arm and unto his shoulders.

"I can take it from here, _Aunt Polly_," Tom sallied, then dropping his eyes to the lowest button, he began to set to the task of buttoning up his shirt.

Stepping in front of Tom, Allan watched as the secret service agent buttoned up his shirt while admirably masking any discomfort the action caused his injuries. "Aunt Polly? Did you get sent to her house when your parents were ready to auction you off?" he joked, a smirk covering his face.

Tom's hands didn't falter nor did he give any kind of reaction to the piercing jab Quatermain had unknowingly made right into his heart. Without lifting his head or letting an inflection enter his voice he replied, "No. I got sent there when my mom died."

Shame, horror and guilt slammed into Allan at his thoughtless words. "Sawyer…I'm sorry."

Raising his head, Tom put on a small sad smile, "People die. It's just how life works."

Tom's accepting reply spiked hurt into Allan and he found his next words thick with emotion, "And your father?"

With the same acceptance to cruel fate, Tom answered, "Never knew him. He died before I was born. Had a stepfather for a few months before he got killed in a steamboat explosion."

'_He's been through so much tragedy and still he's like a beacon of hope_.' "So you came to live with your Aunt Polly and her family?"  
Dropping his head, Tom again resumed buttoning his shirt, "No family, just her. But she took us in, Sid, my half brother and me, and gave us a home, loved us. Most in Hannibal would say that was more than I deserved," he quirked with a mischievous smile and laugh.

Allan opened his mouth to defend Sawyer from those bastards in Hannibal and apparently from Tom's own poor self image but the spy's light laughter told him that Sawyer wasn't looking for a defender. Instead Quatermain calmly said, "Hannibal, that's where you grew up?"

"Hannibal, Missouri," Tom repeated as an answer, pride seeping into his tone as he smirked up at Allan. "Huck and I made our mark on every square inch of that town," his memories of his adventures with Huck now bittersweet. Gingerly tucking in his now buttoned shirt, Tom turned to the table where Quatermain had stored their particular arsenal. Pulling his two Colts from the holster he began to replace the empty shells with bullets.

"You can't seriously think you need them here!" Allan exclaimed in shock and anger and worry as he breathed down Sawyer's neck as if daring the younger man to put the holster on.

Without pulling his attention from his reloading process, the secret service agent lobbied, "Ishmael was killed on board."

"Yes, by Dorian and he's not here anymore," Quatermain drawled, already beginning to doubt his chances of swaying the stubborn American's mind.

Putting in the last bullet on his second gun, Tom snapped the gun barrel closed and snuggly fit both guns into the holster. For the first time he looked up and met Allan's eyes, "When there's a bad apple in a bushel I tend to check the other apples real well. No one likes biting into a worm." With that said, Tom picked up the holster.

"I'm not helping you put that bloody thing on," Allan growled, folding his arms over his chest. "You wear that thing, put that pressure on that bullet wound and more than likely Henry will have to restitch your shoulder."

"Thanks for that ray of sunshine," Tom sarcastically said, already sliding the holster up to rest on his right shoulder, right on top of the bandaged bullet wound. Without hesitation, Sawyer bent his left arm back, his hand blindly searching for the arm hole in the holster.

With a muttered curse, Allan, lifting the holster, gently guided Tom's hand through the holster and settled the left side of the holster on the spy's shoulder. "Do you want to also stuff some dynamite sticks in your pocket for good measure!" he grumbled mockingly.

Smiling, Tom rose to the challenge, "You know, I believe that you can never have too many weapons at the ready."

"Come on," Allan bid, gently ushering Tom toward the door, "you can better arm yourself for dinner. Right now we have a meeting of the minds to attend."

"Meeting of the minds…I like that," Tom repeated as they walked out of his room and began the walk to Nemo's stateroom, neither man aware that villainous minds had already turned the submarine into a weapon against them, a weapon that nothing in Sawyer's arsenal could combat.

'_Can someone explain to me again what's so great about a boat that can travel underwater?_!' Tom bitterly thought, clutching onto the speedometer on the Nautilus's bridge as the submarine rapidly sank stern first into the darkest depths of the ocean. '_I didn't survive a crumbling city, a crash in Nemo's automobile, a rocket, Jekyll ripping open my shoulder, and nearly being blown up only to drown in this canoe!_'

He still felt stunned at the turn of events. Bombs on the Nautilus. Brilliant as it was devious. Sawyer heaped another curse on Dorian's head as he recalled the immortal's part in this sabotage, could still hear the dry smug voice on the gramophone recording disk. But it was not Gray's voice that had caused a sharp pain to drive into his very heart. It was the voice of Huck's murderer.

"Gentlemen, if you are hearing this then every step leading up to it has gone as planned." But the voice was not the one the man had adopted on the dock, it was not the voice that he and Huck had instantly recognized as the Fantom's guttural drawl. This voice was cultured, calm and even pleasant, as deceptive as the man's dark soul. "He likes the sound of his own voice, doesn't he," Tom had observed aloud, a sneer lurking in his words.

As the Fantom's plot was revealed, Tom could feel nothing but contempt. Taking lives, using lives was a game to the man, a game he enjoyed playing as long as he won in the end. '_Maybe you've won this round but you're not gonna win the game_,' Tom had sworn then with confidence, his hands clenching as the man droned on. And then the trap's contours were revealed, the information coming too little too late. Sawyer's mistaken confidence was literally blown apart as the first bomb ripped through the Nautilus, causing the ship to list, tossing everyone in the stateroom to the starboard side of the ship.

With cruel accuracy, the stateroom's table slammed into Tom's ribs, pinning him to the wall, agony and the force of the impact knocking the air from his lungs. Another bomb rang out and another, rocking the ship to the port side, sending the table to the other side of the room and the room's occupants falling forward to collide with the floor. Sprawled out on the marble floor, Tom coerced air into his lungs and his pain to the back of his senses. There was no time to think, to feel, to falter…there never was when death was breathing down his neck. He was struggling to scramble to his feet when Allan appeared at his side, wrapping an arm around his waist and hauling him to his feet.

"I must get to the bridge," Nemo cried, stumbling out the door.

"I'm going too," Tom announced, his words breathless and hued with pain as he slipped from Allan's hold to follow Nemo. He didn't have to look behind him to know Quatermain was only a few paces away, crashing from side to side in the hallways just as he was, determined to reach the bridge.

'_A lot of good being on the bridge is doing me_,' Tom sourly thought, bringing his focus again to the here and now. Catching Allan's eyes across the bridge, Sawyer saw matching grim resolve burning in the hunter's dark gaze. They would not accept death without a fight, it was an instinct entrenched in them, like breathing.

His attention was drawn back to Nemo as a crewmember shouted out the location of the compartment where the water was entering the Nautilus, plunging the submarine toward its grave on the bottom of the ocean. Without any noticeable hesitation, Nemo ordered, "Seal it."

For the first time ever, the crewmember bulked at his captain's orders. Stammering he explained, "But there are men in there."

Wrestling with the vessel's wheel, Nemo spared the crewmember one quick glance, a glance filled with grimness, sorrow and resolve. "For the greater good we must seal the compartment."

Something twisted in Sawyer's soul as he heard Nemo's order, an order that condemned Nemo's crewmembers in that compartment to death so all on board the Nautilus would not be so doomed, so the league could complete its duty and stop the Fantom's evil. Duty, it seemed to leave a bitter taste in Tom's mouth now. His earlier words to Alan about 'willing to make sacrifices' for duty's sake replayed through his mind, leaving him with questions he was unprepared to answer. '_Could I make the choice Nemo is making? Could I truly put the greater good above the lives of others? Above the lives of those I care about?_' The more cynical part of Sawyer cut in, '_Whether you could make that brutal decision or not, men will die today, in that compartment, for the greater good but worse, they will die for you…so you can live. They will die and you will live…just like Huck did.' _

Suddenly Tom felt violently sick and it had nothing to do with the motion of the sea or the boat. '_I don't want anyone else dying in my place! Not again! I can't live with more blood on my hands!' _Then just as quickly, calm resolve settled in him as he vowed,_ "I won't live and let others die for me, not ever again!_' Determined to join the fate of the men in that compartment rather than benefit from their doomed fate, Tom declared, "I'll go to the compartment and close the hatch," finishing his sentence with '_behind me'_ only in his head.

Before Nemo could make a reply, Jekyll cut in stalwartly, offering up Hyde's services instead for the task. "Go, Jekyll," Nemo said in way of agreement.

Tom watched the doctor stagger out the door, feeling a wave of helplessness begin to sink him faster than the Nautilus. '_No! That was my duty! That was my right_!' Pulling his eyes from the door, they clashed with Allan's accusatory glare. '_He knows why I volunteered,_' Tom surmised, '_and he's furious with me. He looks ready to stalk across this doomed boat and strangle me. This is not how I thought we'd end things between us.'_

Allan didn't think he could clench his jaw any tighter without teeth shattering. '_One minute Sawyer looks ready to battle the devil to stay alive and the bloody next he's volunteering to commit suicide! And somewhere in that convoluted mind of his he thinks he's being noble and loyal to that duty he's so proud of!' _The part of Allan that was the spy, the part that did not possess a father's heart, knew that Sawyer **was** being noble and loyal and every other honorable thing a man could be. That knowledge did little to ease the panic and anger in his heart, a heart which had claimed Sawyer as a son. What did sway his emotions was the wretchedness that suddenly clouded Tom's eyes. Instantly Allan's anger bled away and he let the love he felt for the tender young man shine in his eyes and turn up his lips into an encouraging cocky smile.

Receiving gifts was not something Thomas Sawyer had much experience in. Having lost his parents at a young age and with his aunt being so poor, gifts were a luxury that he had done without on many occasions and for many years. But he knew a valuable gift when one was bestowed upon him. Allan's tender regard and smile were one such valuable gift, a gift the magnitude Tom had received only once before, when Huckleberry Finn had honored him by calling him his friend.

Now, here among the possible death throes of the great underwater vessel, Tom felt a wide smile break across his face, his green eyes sparkling into Quatermain's, expressing his gratitude and equally tender regard for the obstinate hunter. '_If this is the end of the ride, it's been an honor being at your side, Allan,_' Tom silently thought, hoping the older man could see that sentiment in his eyes.

The spy's look conveyed his silent message to Quatermain almost as if the words were spoken between them. Yes, there were regrets if this was to be their end but there was also gratitude, gratitude for the connection that had sprang between them, touching their hearts and rescuing them both from their personal demons. '_I am so bloody proud of you son! And if I can't spare you this fate at least I can share in it.'_

Without warning the submarine's rapid descent ceased, causing all occupants of the ship to stumble as the boat's position shifted, adopting a leisurely drifting descent. On the bridge, Tom loosed his grip on the speedometer but did not relinquish it as a crewmember ran into the bridge, announcing that the hatch had been sealed. Immediately, Nemo ordered the bridge staff to take the Nautilus to the surface, fast as they dared.

Again Tom's world tilted, causing him to reclaim his white knuckled grip on the speedometer as the vessel vectored for the surface at an incredibly steep angle. When the nose of the submarine burst out of the water, Tom, at the sight of the blue sky and sunlight on the rippling water, drew in a starving breath. '_That's it! No more rafts, paddleboats or submarines! I'm a land lubber from here on out…well I will be once this mission is over and I put my feet back on the soil of the good ole US of A!_' Tom vowed, already knowing he was lying to himself, water was in his blood…almost as much as adventure was.

Alan slumped against the wall of the bridge in utter relief. '_Too close! That was too bloody close..even for this extraordinary league!_' He shot a look over to Sawyer and for a moment he saw matching relief in the spy's face before a cocky smile beamed on the American's face, showcasing his white teeth to perfection. '_He's bloody gloating_!' he criticized. Then in surprise, he realized that same exhilaration and smugness was pulsating through his veins. They had won, again. '_Extraordinary, indeed_,' he quirked, letting his expression mirror the spy's as he forced his legs to stop their shaking and started to walk toward the American.

Having already begun his own trek toward Allan, Tom met the adventurer in the middle of the room.

"Are you alright?" the two men inquired simultaneously of each other, causing some chuckles to escape from their throats.

"I'm alright, how about you?" Allan replied back first, his eyes already sweeping over Sawyer in inspection.

"I'll live to fight another day," Tom repeated his earlier proclamation, his eyes steadily meeting Allan's, warning the older man to not take up his usual overprotective questioning here on the bridge surrounded by Nemo's crew and Mina. At the thought of Mina, Tom's eyes instantly flew to the English woman behind them. "Mina, are you alright?"

"Nice of someone to ask," she drolly replied, giving Quatermain a cool look as she pushed some of her mane of hair from her face where it had fallen during the course of their misadventure.

Raising an eyebrow, Quatermain drawled, "I thought you wanted to be treated like one of the boys, Mrs. Harker."

"As an equal, Mr. Q, I wished to be treated like an equal. I am most assuredly not 'one of the boys.'"

"I've already noticed that," Tom mumbled under his breath, taking in the sight of the beautiful woman in black.

The young spy's words caused Mina's temper to dissipate and she took the few steps forward to stand mere inches from the spy. "Compliments do not need to be whispered, Tom," she nearly purred, her eyes pouring into his.

"Well, I think he thought with your wonderful bat senses, you'd hear a whisper as likely as a shout," Allan gruffly cut in, attempting to dispel the mood that was engulfing Mina and Sawyer. When he had told Sawyer that Mina was out of his league, he had said it as not so much the truth but as a deterrent. Quatermain knew women, knew that they all had the ability to 'sink their teeth' into a man's soul but Mina's bite had already proven itself deadly. The young ones' light flirtation had amused him, causing him to internally cheer Sawyer's successes with the widow but now he felt concerned at the frank attraction the vampire was bestowing on Sawyer.

Quatermain's growl did not remove Mina's smile nor draw her gaze from Tom's as she casually made her reply. "Sorry to say I am reliant upon my own exceptional hearing, Mr. Q, nor do I suffer from a bat's great limitation in sight."

"Oh…so you just have their bite, do you?" Allan said as if it were an accusation.

The words broke the spell that held the spy and vampire. Turning sharp eyes onto the hunter, Mina stepped toward Quatermain, purposefully she leaned slowly closer to the older man, goading him to flinch away. The hunter gave her no such satisfaction. Her lips were almost touching his ear as she whispered, "Maybe it's you who is more lion than man. You're becoming very protective of your young cub." Drawing back, she met the hunter's gaze with a challenge in her eyes.

Unabashedly, Quatermain retorted, "Yes, I am. Take that as the warning it should be."

Nemo approached the present members of the league, unaware of the currents running through the threesome. "Let's reconvene in my stateroom. I will have someone notify Mr. Jeykll of our location." Then he stalked out the door.

"After you," Tom said to Mina, a small smile on his lips. Nodding with that British modesty that Sawyer wasn't sure how to interpret, Mina walked out of the room. Then he looked to Quatermain and they began the trek to the door, side by side. "You have a way with women, Quatermain," Tom declared, unaware of his part in the caustic exchange between the vampire and the hunter. Then he shot Quatermain a smirk, "A bad way but still, it's a way."

"Whelp," Quatermain said, giving the grinning Sawyer a light shove through the doorway.

Walking back into the stateroom was like getting a kick in the gut, again. Here all the recent points in this game could be tallied. It was here that they plotted their pursuit of Gray, that they heard M's gloating voice emanate from the recording disk, that they had helplessly learned of the bombs presence seconds before they felt them tear the ship apart. _'I think I hate this room as much as I hated Aunt Polly's sewing nook where I usually got the switch,' _came to Tom followed by,_ 'OK so maybe I deserved the switch but this time the punishment doesn't fit the crime.'_

Looking at the shambles the room was in, Tom picked up a chair and righted it before moving to the table. Opening his mouth to ask if someone could help him, he found Quatermain at the other end, already gripping the edge of the table. Together they maneuvered the table in place, matching grimaces of pain springing to both of their faces as their respective injuries objected to their good Samaritan actions. Ruefully they both leveled guilty expression at each other, expecting reciprocal lectures. Relief surged through them both when they realized neither had the high ground enough to dish out a reprimand.

"I saw that and I disapprove," Jekyll's scolded as he made his way down the hallway to the stateroom, straightening his fresh clothing.

Instead of shame, Allan turned to face the approaching doctor with a smile, "The hero makes his entrance," giving Henry a thumbs up.

An 'ah shucks' look came over Henry's features, "Well, let's not make a saint out of a sinner. Can we still follow Gray?" he asked, his eyes resting on Quatermain.

"We were the faster," the adventurer drawled, "now we're the tortoise to his hare."

Defeat sagged Jekyll's shoulders as he aided Quatermain in righting a table, "So we're done?" The answer was in Quatermain's grim expression but it was another voice, a voice firm with conviction that gave a reply.

"No." Tom adamantly refuted, thinking of Huck, of his murderer slipping through his fingers. "We're alive. If M has any ideas to the contrary, that gives us an edge."

Tom's sharp mind tagged on, '_An edge I plan on exploiting until I get what I want._' Suddenly the hate that burned in his gut was vying for domination over his pledge to seek justice upon Huck's murderer '_Justice, it's what Huck would want you to seek, it's what Allan wants you to seek, it's what you swore you would seek!'_ But the dark part of his soul, the part that knew the true evil men could do, the true evil he himself was capable of would not remain silent. '_But will justice be enough. Will it fill the gaping hole that Huck's murder ripped into your heart and soul? Will justice give you the satisfaction of seeing the Fantom breathe his last breath, slowly, painfully, knowing that death was reaching for him with greedy, cold, unrelenting hands'_

All eyes of the league settled on the young man, unaware of his dark ruminations. Ironically, his brave, firm words of conviction gave a boost to their sagging spirits, giving them hope that justice would still be done and done by them. The entrance of a crewmember with his startling pronouncement only added fuel to the hope that had nearly been snuffed out. They were getting a signal from the Nautiloid.

"Hello, my freaky darlings," the radio man translated.

Happy disbelief surged through Tom. "Skinner?" he said aloud, though he held no doubts at the sender's identify. Only the invisible thief would utter a nickname like 'my freaky darlings' let alone mean it in a good way. For some reason, Skinner had always felt like a friend to Tom. And now that friend was being returned to him, untainted and seemingly energized to take on their foes.

"Hiding on board little fish with Gray. On way to base. East by North East. Follow my lead," came the rest of the morse code translation.

Allan smiled and turned to the members of the league, his eyes settling on Sawyer. "Looks like the tortoise just got wind of a short cut. You were right not to give up hope, lad."

Hope, the word seemed to echo in Tom's head, foreign and maybe even unwelcome. Hope was about goodness, about positive thinking, about seeking out the honorable solution to a troublesome dilemma. If he had offered up hope to the others, he had done it unconsciously. Revenge and hope could not share the same space, they were as different as night and day, as heaven and hell. '_As different as justice and revenge_,' a voice said in Tom's head that sounded a lot like Huck Finn's.

Tom started as a hand came to rest on his shoulder, causing his head to snap up and his vision to collide with Quatermain's questioning gaze. "What?" he asked, sensing that he hadn't heard something the older man had said.

Abandoning his prior words, Allan, watching as the others walked away leaving he and Sawyer alone at the radio room's doorway, lowly asked, his eyes boring into Sawyer's, "What's wrong? Do you think Skinner's not to be trusted?"

"No, him I trust, never quite got to the point of not trusting him," Tom assured, straightening his stance from his leaning position on the doorway.

"Then what's troubling you?" Allan gently probed, feeling the tension in Sawyer like it was his own. "There someone else you **don't** trust?"

"Yeah. Me," Tom lowly confessed, brushing past Allan and slowly making his way down the hallway.

TBC

Replies to Reviews:

Shakai: So glad you liked the banter and Tom's big 'ouchie' and the last sentence! As always, it's a real treat hearing from you!

Sawyer Fan: I was so encouraged that you thought last chapter was worth the wait! After a long writer's block, I always wonder if I 'still got it'! Thanks for you wonderful review!

Q1120790: Thank you for your overwhelming review! Your words really struck me right in the heart and I just had to reread your review a few times! Sometimes I feel like I'm letting my 'heart and soul' hang out there with my stories and I've regretted allowing myself to be so vulnerable. But then a wonderful person like yourself comes alone and sees that vulnerability and applauds it. That is a beautiful gift to me! Thank you and I'd be very honored if you added the story to your favorite list! Hope the rest of the story keeps you smiling!

StriderX: Well your review about had ME crying! After that bout of writer's block I was feeling uncertain of myself so I REALLY appreciated your compliments! As for the writing career…it would be a dream come true! Maybe someday! Thanks again, my friend, for your thoughts, encouragements and advice!

Amanda Hope: Thank you for the fantastic compliments! I really struggle to keep the emotions believable and not too sappy so I loved hearing that you thought I wrote them 'realistically and beautifully'! Hope you like this chapter!

ALonelySoul: Thank you for your truly wonderful compliments! A beaming smile came to my lips when you said you think of my story when you watch the movie! As for your dread about Allan's death's effect on Sawyer...you'll have to wait and see! I was so touched and pleased that you wanted another LOTR story from me! However, I have to admit that I'm not planning on writing any more LOTR. But you never know, I'm an obsessive kind of gal, always flitting around like a moth from one obsession to the next. I'm actually hoping to jump back on the Star Wars bandwagon after this fic wraps up. But if I do pen another LOTR story it's great to know you'll willing to read it! Support like that is awesome to have!

Ten Mara: Loved you review as always! I'm afraid you're disappointed in this chapter considering I took the coward's way out and adopted the movie's scene for Tom's 'leader of men' speech. Initially my intentions were to remain true to the theatrical version of the film but then with your comment I considered stealing some lines from the book/deleted scenes. But when I put pen to paper(fingers to keyboard) I just couldn't get that to work. So I apology for the omission of the 'scene' you were looking forward to! However, your encouragement to add more Mina to the storyline gave me the guts to have her in this chapter. Thank you for your wonderful words!

Someone Reading: Hello Friend! You won't believe me but just this weekend I discovered your name on my favorite story list and stopped in at your profile page! When I read you had stopped reviewing I really wanted to get in contact with you and say how very much I always valued and enjoyed every review you honored me with! Then, like some magic trick, you gave me the wonderful gift of your review! Your review's better than getting the best mushy card Hallmark ever had! And there is nothing to forgive! Every person has a right and a need to step back and play things low key! Goodness knows I live most of my life that way! Thank you so much for your wonderful support of this story! It means a lot to me that you value the relationship struggles, dialogue and the interwoven scenes. Coming from you it's a great compliment! Thanks again for sending that awesome review!

Laura B: Thanks for your wonderful review! And I had to laugh when you said you didn't mind that 'Sawyer was getting a raw deal.' I guess it's true what they say..you always hurt the ones you love! (but somehow I don't think they were thinking fanfiction when they said that).

Thanks so much to everyone for reading this chapter!

Till next time…

Cheryl W.


	12. Chapter 12

Peace

By: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I don't own The League of the Extraordinary Gentlemen or anything in conjunction with LXG nor am I making a profit from this story. No copyright infringement is intended. Sadly, I do not own Tom Sawyer either.

Chapter 12

The Nautilus lay still in the water, listing to starboard, her hull ravaged, her engine, her heart as it was, devastatingly quiet. All seemed lost…until that first hammer struck metal, until that first blow torch flickered to life. Hope was still alive, in Nemo's crew, in the league. Tarnished, tested and tried hope but hope all the same.

Deep in the bowels of the ship, in the engine room where volcanic heat sought to suffocate all those who dared dwell in it's presence, hope did not likewise burn in Tom Sawyer's heart. No, it was necessity, need that shaped his certainty that the Nautilus would sail again. '_She has to_!' he swore, swiping soot and a river of sweat from his forehead as he tightened another gauge, delivered another tool to a crewmember, flipped another lever. He would not accept defeat, not now, not when the Fantom had nearly been in his hands…to do with as he pleased.

'_And that brings us back to that same question. What will you do when you come face to face with the Fantom, with Huck's murderer? Where does justice end and revenge begin? And do you truly care if you cross that line? What will it matter what state your soul is in after Huck's death has been avenged? You live for that moment alone. For when that task is done …where will you go, what will you do? No one will have any use for you …certainly not the Secret Service after you went rogue, the league will all go their separate ways, Quatermain will scurry back to Africa back to his solitude, leaving only his legend as the only tangible proof that he still lives. You will be alone…and you can not go home…ever…not without Huck.'_

Leaning his back against a pipe, Tom tried to gulp in air to wash away the renewed grief that surged through him as his eyes took in his surrounding. Crewmembers bent over gauges, carried pipes, soldered metal sheets over damaged pipes, hammered frayed metal into place and huddled together in groups, devising plans to make the engine come to life again. Each man had his place, had a purpose to fulfill, a benefit only he could bring to the effort.

'_They belong here, each and every one of them. This is where they fit, where life makes the most sense to them. I envy them that.'_ Suddenly the heat was too much, the hammering was too loud, the blow torches too bright, the air too thin. Tom's lungs burned for breath, breath that was elusive even as his eyes squinted and watered, unable to withstand the red hot glow of the torches. His body flinched at every hammer fall as if it were a physical blow he felt upon his own flesh.

Desperately, he stumbled for the door, needing to get out, to escape, to draw in a unsoiled breath of air. But when he reached the door, it was blocked by entering crewmembers bearing another six foot of piping. Slipping to the side of the door to let them pass, Tom braced his hand against the wall, keeping himself steady on his feet as he shut his eyes. Memories slammed into him.

This panic was not new to him. The first time it had clutched him in it's talons he had been trapped in the cave with Becky. For Becky's sake, he had quelled the raging fear, masking it behind false assurances…hope…just like he had given to the League only hours ago. Forcing away that comparison, Tom allowed the full memories of the last time he had suffered this weakness to play through his head.

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He hadn't balked at the assignment, never even contemplated that it would rouse such a buried fear in him to spring to life. "Hey I can do this one alone, Tom. You don't need to put yourself through this," Huckleberry Finn had gently said as he pulled him aside, his words only meant for his best friend.

"Through what? Doing a little coal mining for a day or two until we find our spy? I'm not afraid of a little hard work, **a little** mind you," Tom had sallied back, truly ignorant to the source of his friend's concern.

But Huck didn't back down, he never did when it came to protecting his best friend. Meeting Tom's eyes head on he softly clarified, "McDougal's Cave is like an open field in direct sunlight compared to how that coal mine is laid out, Tom. Narrow, cold, dark, stale air that's what you can expect."

Challenge rose in Tom, "You saying I can't handle it?"

A sadness stole into Huck's eyes. "No, I'm saying I don't want to see you put through that kinda hell…not again."

Tom's heart had softened at his friend's concern but his pride would not back down. Putting a hand on his friend's shoulder, he had boasted, "I'll be right as rain, Huck. You'll see."

But he wasn't. Huck had been right about the mine's accommodations…only hearing about them and surrounded by them for hours on end were not even comparable in how they ripped into Tom's very soul. When he stumbled against the mine wall, gasping for breath, Huck was instantly at his side, latching an arm around his waist, easing him down to sit on the ground. Without thought, the elder agent poured some of his invaluable water supply onto a rag and swept the cloth over at his friend's white face even as he put his canteen to Tom's lips and coaxed his friend to swallow the rest of his water. "Remember that time we tricked Mr. Hanson into paying us for a chore Peter whatshisname did," Huck jovially asked, never stopping his ministrations to his ailing friend.

"Yeah," Tom got out around his harsh breathing, his eyes never leaving their anchor of Huck, "Peter was none too pleased."

"None too pleased! He gave us both black eyes!" Huck shot back, claiming a seat beside his trembling friend, his shoulder touching Tom's, instilling a connection he knew his friend desperately needed.

Tom gave a weak smile to his friend in the barely visible light a hanging lantern emanated, "Yeah but he didn't get the coins Mr. Hanson gave us."

A smug smile emerged on Huck's lips, "No, no he didn't." A silence fell between the friends and Tom's panic melted away in the aura of the unbreakable friendship.

"You were right," Tom announced, hanging his head in defeat and shame. "I couldn't handle this."

A hand companionably squeezed the nape of his neck as Huck leaned over and whispered in his ear, "You just did handle it. I was wrong."

Raising his head, Tom denied, "No. I didn't handle it…you did. Without you I'ld be carried out of here on a stretcher."

"Stop doubting yourself, Tom. You're stronger than you think," Huck tapped his fingers against Tom's chest where his heart lay underneath. "And you're strongest right here. No one or nothing can beat you when you put your heart into it. Goodness knows I've tried…" a smirk coming unto Huck's face.

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A section of the pipe contacted harshly with the door, jarring Tom from his memories to find that tears mingled now with the sweat on his cheeks. '_Without you, Huck, I have no heart.'_

Tom shivered as if a bucket of ice had been poured over his head, as if the thought broke through some feverous delirium he had been trapped within. His shoulders slumped, his eyes dimmed and he no longer took notice of the sweat that streaked into his eyes. Turning around, he stepped back into the hellish center of the engine room to resume his duties. One didn't need a heart to seek revenge, one only needed the means to achieve that revenge and right now this boat, this crippled vessel was the only means he had to seek out that path. A gunshot wound, a sinking city, a car crash, a rocket and three bombs had not stopped his headlong pursuit of revenge…he'ld be damned if a broken ship would hamper the only thing his soul clamored for every moment he drew breath.

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Against all the odds, the Nautilus was once again master of the ocean, cutting through the small swells like a honed knife. Satisfaction even pleasure should have surged through Allan Quatermain. Try as he might, he could not stir either emotion to surface.

Pouring himself yet another shot of whiskey, he quickly drained the glass, his eyes not even taking in the surroundings of his room on the Nautilus. No, what drew his every thought, what still robbed him of his very breath were the events of the day.

Betrayal. It burned the back of his throat. M's deception he had never conceived while Dorian's, though he had been leery of the immortal, he had never thought his untrustworthiness would lead to such dark deeds. '_And your blindness may very well lead to a world war_! _And maybe even worse, it may lead to a world where vampires, invisible men, monsters like Hyde and scientific inventions terrorize the world into submission!_' he chastised himself with hatred. Ruthlessly he recalled the incidents of the day. '_Venice was almost decimated, Sawyer nearly lost his life…_' his grip on the shot glass tightened as his memories resurfaced of how very close he had come to losing the young man he had come to treasure. Brushing aside his weak emotions, he continued to tally the cost of his failures. '_Ishmael has been killed. The Fantom and Gray have escaped and the Nautilus has been ripped apart by bombs_. _Bloody brilliant the way you've handled things, Quatermain_! _With more help from you, the Fantom can just sit back and take a bloody holiday while the world goes to hell!'_

Allan's hand nearly shattered the glass it held. His fault! It rang through his soul. This was all his fault! If he hadn't left Africa, if he hadn't joined the league, if he hadn't captured Hyde or trusted M and Gray…and God help him, if he hadn't let Sawyer join this bloody crusade…how much better things would be right now, how many lives would be spared…how much safer Tom Sawyer would be! M had been the conductor but Allan knew he had been the orchestra…down to the very instruments that were played. He couldn't help believing that without him as the pawn, this game would be over already.

'I failed this league…hell the world…just like I did Harry.'

A knock on his door startled him, jolting him from his slumped position to sit up straight in the chair and eye the door with disdain. "It's late," he growled, not giving a damn who stood on the other side of the door or what news they brought. His soul was full up today on caring…about anything or anyone.

"Then why aren't you sleeping?" came Tom Sawyer's serious voice through the wood of the door.

Instantly Allan knew he had been wrong. He still cared about someone, cared why that someone had come to his door in the middle of the night when exhaustion and weakness should have ensured he would be asleep in his own room hours ago when the last of the repairs had been made. Allan wanted to curse himself, to rage against caring, to reprimand himself for nurturing that vulnerability…he knew how it would end…how it would hurt him, destroy him. '_But I won't shut him out, I won't hurt him, I won't see him destroyed…not for me…not for anyone. Not even for his friend Huck's soul._'

Standing stiffly from the chair, Quatermain crossed to the door, yanked it open and inspected the young American. "If you had the sense of a bug you'd be in bed," he greeted with a reprimand, hating to see the pallor of the spy's face, which was in sharp contrast to the dark bruises under Tom's eyes and the stitches on his forehead.

Sawyer gave no reply but side stepped Quatermain and slipped into the room. Spying Quatermain's glass of whiskey on the nightstand, he took a healthy swallow. "Good stuff." Faster than Sawyer would have imagined, the hunter gained his side and snatched the glass from his hand.

Glaring at the younger man, Allan chided, "Pain medication and alcohol don't mix."

Sawyer smiled in challenge, "So how do you know I **took** any medication?"

Noting that the smile never reached Tom's eyes, Allan gentled the tone he used with his reply, "Because I told Jekyll to shove some down your throat even if he had to turn into Hyde to get it accomplished."

"Well, you're wrong…." Tom began, but at seeing the gathering storm in Quatermain's eyes he relented, really not having the heart to fight with Quatermain tonight. "Pain medication and alcohol do mix…its just that my head and stomach may tend to pay the consequences." In direct contract to his words, he availed himself of the unused glass on the nightstand, poured himself half a glass of the whisky and walked out of Allan's grasp.

Allan, with every intention of snatching the second glass from Tom's hand, took a step forward only to come up short when he saw the look in the younger man's eyes. Yes, a defiance lurked in the depths of Sawyer's eyes but so did wariness, despair, and guilt. Fear struck in Allan's heart. Sawyer had worn that same look when he refused to let Jekyll tend to his wound, knowing the consequences, maybe even welcoming the consequences.

Desperate to not let Tom sink back into that level of despair, Allan closed the distance between he and Sawyer, meeting the younger man's gaze. "I don't know what's going on in that head of yours but none of this debacle is your fault." His look pierced into Tom, seemingly latching onto Sawyer's very soul and swearing to not relinquish it's grasp until Allan was reassured the storm had passed.

"You sure about that?" Tom quietly snarled, his long checked self hatred brimming to the surface, as he swallowed the rest of the contents of his glass, circumvented Allan's reaching hands and made his way back to the bottle of whiskey. Allan met him at the table, his hand wrapped around the base of the bottle while Tom gripped the neck of the bottle, their intentions for the bottle in contrast.

The defiance flared to new heights in Tom's eyes as he lanced his glare into Allan.

"I'm the leader of this bloody group," Allan declared, his tone allowing no denials as he stood toe to toe with Sawyer, "any fault begins and ends with me. I'm the one who played right into M's…the Fantom's hands."

"But I'm the one who let him get away in the first damn place!" Tom shouted back, instantly seeing Allan's shock. Abandoning his conquest for the bottle, Tom took three steps backward. Allan made no move to halt his retreat, in fact Tom envisioned relief in the other's man's eyes at the growing distance between them. '_Did you really think he wouldn't blame you, wouldn't see the mistake you made, wouldn't realize that it was your failure that brought us to this point? And did you, for one second, think he wouldn't hold you accountable for it? You deserve to be accountable for it. The guilt is yours and yours alone. And even you can't deny that_. _Anymore than you can deny that Huck's dead because of you.'_

Allan jumped at the sound of Sawyer's glass breaking into a thousand shards as it impacted with the wall. But his heart thudded more at the shattered look on Tom's face.

"He dies by my hand!" Tom shouted, jabbing his finger into his chest. "Mine! Not yours!" he threatened, his finger now stabbing toward Quatermain. "Not anyone else's but mine!" Turning on his heel, Tom stalked for the door, knowing that he had been wrong to come here, to think he deserved Allan's friendship, or forgiveness or understanding, that he deserved anyone's forgiveness. He had helplessly watched the light die in Huck's eyes for that he deserved to be swallowed up by the darkness that remained! Knowing this to be true, he couldn't fathom why he continued to rage against that darkness…as if he had the right to something better, to a kinder fate!

Breaking from his stupor, Allan lurched forward, his hand wrapping around Tom's forearm to swing the American around to face him.

Instantly, the spy shoved Quatermain backward, breaking the hunter's hold on his arm. Turning around again, Sawyer headed for the open door, shooting down his recriminations at his rough treatment of a man he considered his friend. He never reached the door.

Having always known when kid gloves needed to be discarded, Allan surged forward, wrapped one hand around Sawyer's right bicep, clenched the other hand around the American's throat and drove the younger man backward to slam into the wall. Before the spy could struggle in the hold, Allan pressed against him, pinning him to the wall, his restrictive hold on Sawyer's throat ensuring that the spy's head could not rise from the wall.

Ignoring both the reawakened pain and the betrayal that burned in Tom's eyes, Allan leaned his head down closer to Tom's, his eyes boring into the other man's. "Your friend Huck is dead," his words firm even regretful but their meaning harsh and seemingly without compassion, "and there's not a damn thing you can do to change that! Huck is beyond your help now."

The hunter's words were the cruelest weapon that had ever been welded against Tom, severing that slim thread that had kept his roiling emotions at bay. "No!" he roared, sending the heel of his left hand into Quatermain's chin.

Unprepared for that maneuver, Allan's head snapped back and he staggered under the blow, losing his grip on Sawyer's arm and throat and stumbling to the floor. Raising his hand to his nose, Allan swiped away the blood but never took his eyes off the trembling man that stood over him. The ball was in the kid's court now.

Freed, Tom clenched his hands into fist, wanting to strike Allan, to make him rescind his words and yet also not wanting to hurt the man who had come to mean so much to him. Leaving the field of battle seemed the only viable solution that he could live with. Again he headed for the door, until a hand latched around his ankle and sent him crashing to the ground. The impact knocked the breath out of him, choking off the cry of pain that would have filled the room as more abuse was heaped upon his wounds.

Allan's heart nearly broke at Tom's choked cry of pain, and his coiled body but he knew he had to take what measures he had to in order to save Sawyer's soul. Coming to crouch beside Sawyer, who now lay on his side, his breath forced and his sad eyes warily watching the hunter's approach, Quatermain forced himself to say the words that would break through the spy's barriers. "Huck's gone. He's not demanding that you avenge his death…he can't…he wouldn't. You're the one who's seeking this revenge. So, don't lie to me or yourself and say it's for Huck. It's for you and you alone. Huck doesn't need anything from you anymore, Tom."

Seeing the well of despair in Tom's eyes, Allan gently laid his hand on Tom's cheek, "All that remains of your friend is you, your memories of the time you shared together and his love for you. If you destroy yourself, you destroy Huck in ways death never could. Don't let the Fantom destroy what is good in you, what Huck loved about you."

Pulling his look from Allan's intense gaze, Tom struggled to sit up, instantly Allan wrapped his arm around the wounded man, and aided him to gain a seated position, his back braced against the wall.

Closing the door to the room so no interlopers would intrude on the scene, Allan then sank down the wall to sit beside Tom, his eyes worriedly watching as Tom drew his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around his knees and hung his head down.

Quietly, gently, sincerely, Allan confessed, "Huck doesn't need your help anymore, Tom, but I do. The league does. The world does." Sawyer did not raise his head but stilled at the words as if merely breathing was too much of a reaction. Allan knew he had to say the rest, had to admit the truth, vulnerabilities be damned, "But I want more than your help…I want your friendship." Getting no response from Sawyer, Allan wrapped his arm around the spy's trembling shoulders and leaned his head against the bowed blond head. "Don't you understand?" his voice cracking with emotion, "I **need** you at my side, Tom. Not to fill Harry's place…you can't and I don't want you to. No I need you because ….ah bloody hell this is hard."

"Allan it's Ok," came Sawyer's muffled voice and then the American lifted his head and his dull eyes met Allan's gaze. "I…I understand."

But Allan knew the young man didn't understand, didn't know the depths of his regard, would never believe he was worthy of such regard. Before he could say what he had been struggling to say, Tom spoke.

Looking to his hands that linked around his knees, Tom professed, his voice quiet and fragile as if it would break with every syllable, "Huck was more than my best friend, he was closer to me than any other soul, he was my family, my brother." A tear slipped down Tom's face but he paid it no mind, knowing it wouldn't be the only one. Taking in a breath, Tom closed his eyes and then leaned his head back against the wall, causing Allan to withdraw his arm from the young man's shoulders.

When Tom's eyes opened again and boldly sighted on Allan, the hunter knew the hurting man was ready to bear his soul. '_Don't fail him this time_!' Allan chastised himself, remembering how he had let his other chances to be Sawyer's confidante slip through his fingers. '_Be the man he needs, the father he needs, the father you never were to Harry.' _"Take it slow, I'm not going anywhere," he assured, his hand squeezing Tom's knee.  
Some of the tension bleed out of Tom and he felt the wall he had constructed come down of it' s own accord. It was time to stop running, to stop hiding, to put his trust in someone again, like he had Huck so many years before. His voice was low as he began, "Huck and I got a tip that the Fantom was going to have a meeting on the Hawthorn street docks. It turned out to be a great tip," his voice as bitter as it was sad.

Letting Sawyer reign in his emotions, Allan sat silently at his side, watching the young man's face contort in anguish, wishing that he could ease Tom's pain even as he knew he could not. Life was not that merciful. No, the pain, the guilt, the memories, they were the spy's albatross to bear. All Allan could offer Tom was his support, his understanding and his warm regard and pray to God that those things offered some relief to the young man's misery.

Drawing in a steadying breath, Tom pressed on, knowing it needed to be said, he needed to face the horror again in order to defeat it's grip on his soul. "When Huck and I tried to arrest the Fantom and his lackey, the lackey pulled a gun. I shot him in the chest," Tom's trembling hand pointed to a spot on his own chest, "here."

Like a strike of lightening, Quatermain knew what had transpired and closed his eyes in despair. '_The bloody armor! Like the blokes that came for me in Africa! That bastard wore armor.'_

Unaware of Quatermain's thoughts, Tom stammered, "I…I thought he was dead." Balling his right hand into a fist, Tom slammed it into his right leg, "I sensed more danger but I didn't react to it! Instead I walked right into the trap!"

"It wasn't your fault, Tom," Allan soothed.

"Wasn't it?" Tom countered, his red ripped eyes lancing into Allan's. "I'm the fool who didn't finish the job! Who let down his guard! I walked up to the downed man and let him shoot me."

"You didn't let him!" Allan contested, seizing Tom's arms and jerking the spy's torso to the right to face him. "He was wearing bloody body armor! There was no way you could have known that!"

"I sensed…"

"Sensing danger isn't the same as knowing where it's going to come from! If it was, us adventuresome sorts would be bored to tears. Life is unpredictable, Sawyer. You and I know that best of all."

Tears slipped down Tom's face, "But we're trained…I'm trained to plan for the unpredictable, to be prepared for anything."

"You're asking the impossible of yourself! Your government is asking the impossible of you! No man is prepared for everything! Most of the time we're not prepared for anything that happens to us! Thinking that a man you shot in the chest isn't getting back up wasn't wrong. What is wrong is someone hell bent enough on murder to need armor to protect himself. Getting shot wasn't your fault."

Quietly, like a whisper of something too foul to utter aloud, Tom said, "It's the reason Huck is dead. I got shot, fell in the water..." taking in a shaky breath, he continued, "leaving Huck distracted and alone facing the Fantom and his very much alive lackey. By the time I crawled onto the dock…" Tom pulled back and Allan let his hands slips from their grip on the spy. Leaning back against the wall, his eyes ahead, unfocused, Tom finished his tale. "The Fantom was running away and Huck was falling." Unchecked tears ran down Tom's pain creased face, "I held Huck in my arms….willing him to live, begging him to live. But that stubborn fool," Tom's voice broke apart into a sob and he drew his knees tight against his chest and drew his arms around his bowed head, "he…he wouldn't listen, said it was his time. Made me promise to take care of myself and then he died…and left me alone with this gaping hole in my soul." Sobs wracked Tom and he didn't protest when strong arms wrapped around him and a bearded chin rested on his head.

"You're not alone, Tom. Not anymore. And neither am I. You're stuck with me, son. If the African witch doctor knows his spells, you'll be stuck with me forever. Now isn't that a terrifying thought," Allan lightly teased, tightening his hold on the son of his heart.

A small laugh broke up Tom's sobs, "I've heard worse news," he joked back, even though his voice was rough and wavering.

"I bet ya have, I bet ya have," Allan murmured, feeling the uncoiling of the body he held, he let out a pent up breath. "You're in a league of your own, Thomas Sawyer. No one can match you for heart and soul."

"Except you. Made outta the same coin, right?" came Sawyer's muffled reply.

Allan's breath caught at Sawyer's words, at the younger man's belief that he could equal his goodness. "Thought you knew how to spot a counterfeit, secret service agent Sawyer. You're the real thing, son. Not me."

Allan's self loathing roused Tom from his own misery. Raising his head, he looked to Quatermain and was stunned to see tears visible in the hunter's eyes. "I can spot a counterfeit from a wallet in a man's back pocket just by looking in his eyes. I know what's real, what has value and what doesn't. You best try this humble routine on someone else cause I know better. You musta forgotten that I'm not one of your easy to con countrymen," he teased with a watered down version of his cocky grin that Allan had come to love.

"Sure, your country's better at the confidence game..you buggers invented it," Allan shot back, relief flooding him at Tom's attempt at levity.

"We perfected it," the American contradicted and boasted in the same breath.  
"And you're proud of that," Allan exclaimed, shaking his head in wonder and disbelief. "Let's get off this bloody floor! My back's killing me!" he said, beginning to put action to words.

"Your back!" Tom scoffed with exaggerated ire, watching the hunter struggle to his feet but giving no indication he would attempt to do the same. "What about my ribs? My shoulder? My head?" he asked, tilting his head up to meet the man's eyes as he now towered over him.

Guilt shot through Quatermain, knowing that, though Sawyer was only naming his woes as a joke, the pain in the other man was no joke, and Allan knew he had only added to it with his rough treatment of Tom. But now was not the time to show concern, not when Tom's eyes fairly pleaded with him to continue the charade, to make light of pain, to not let his perceived weakness dominate his every reaction. Giving the younger man what he wanted, Allan cocked an eyebrow and mockingly chastised, "Oh, now you want to admit you're in pain?"

Gratitude sparked in Tom's eyes. Forcing his lips into a smirk, he sallied back, "I'll admit it if that's what it takes to get some help getting off of this hard floor," reaching his hand up to the already standing Quatermain. Without delay, Allan, bypassing Sawyer's outstretched hand, bent down, looped his arm around Tom's waist and eased the spy to his feet.

Now on his feet, Tom turned to face Allan. Guilt hit him at the stain of blood on Allan's nose. "Sorry about…" and he touched his own nose.

"I like to think I gave as good as I got," Allan smirked back, masking his anguish at costing Sawyer pain behind bold talk.

"Oh, you did," Tom concurred, a quirky smile on his lips, while his arm absently braced his aggravated ribs. Seeing a dark look cross Allan's features, Tom quickly dropped his arm to his side and stood up straighter. "So I guess it's good that we're back to fighting the bad guys instead of each other," a hint of a question in his tone.

"I definitely prefer that to this," Allan's tone quiet, full of regret.

Tom simply nodded his head and dropped his eyes from Allan, feeling so foolish for having allowed the verbal sparring to escalate into something physical. His head snapped up when Allan's hand came to rest on his cheek.

"Everything's alright between us," Allan gently reassured, his eyes holding Tom's gaze. "This..this didn't change anything." He couldn't help but smile as he explained, "It just means we're equally stubborn."

A tentative smile broke out on Tom's face.

"It also means that what I said is true. I'm not going anywhere. Not even if we disagree on matters…because we will."

Tom gave a small chuckle at that, knowing how true a statement it was.  
Loping an arm over Tom's shoulders, Allan steered the man to the door. "Now it's way past someone's bedtime…"

"Yeah, I have to say I'm shocked you're still awake," Tom countered, a returning light in his eyes.

Raising an eyebrow in mock disapproval, Quatermain teased, "If I looked up the word incorrigible in an American dictionary it probably has your picture."

"Hey and it's a great likeness too," Tom quirked back, a wide smile on his face as he slipped out of Allan's hold and scampered out the door.

With a sigh containing mirth and worry, Allan closed his room door but remained still, his palm pressed upon the closed door and his head bowed. Suddenly, tomorrow loomed like a specter, clutching his heart in it's cold grip. Tomorrow they would reach Mongolia, would rendezvous with Skinner and would begin the end of this bloody adventure. On a hunt, the prospect of cornering his prey would give him exhilaration like few things could. Not so this particular "hunt". Dread ate into him. The stakes were too high, their chances for success too tremulous, the odds that he could lose something..someone he treasured to the very depths of his soul too great to even contemplate.

Fervently Allan sent up a prayer, '_Let it be me, God. Not him. Let me be the one to deal with M, not him. Don't force him to make that decision! And please, God, I'm begging you, don't let him fall, not him. Not him! Let it be me, please God, let it be me instead.'_

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TBC

Replies to Reviews:

Shakai: Thanks for your wonderful review! I was very pleased that I had you laughing! As for why Tom doesn't trust himself, he's torn between seeking justice and seeking revenge. Sorry I didn't convey that clearly! Sometimes I think through the plot in my head but forget to clarify them on paper! Thanks for sticking with this story..even when you're suppose to being doing an essay!

Someone Reading: I've told you already but I wanted to stress how wonderful it was to get a review from you! Your words, as always, hit me right in the heart! Thank you so much for enjoying my story within the movie! It's one of the hardest things I've tried…trying to stay true to the movie and yet give depth to what we "didn't see". But with encouragement like yours, I'm able to gather my courage and pen another chapter! Thank you for being such a great friend!

Laura B: Thank you for your support review! I'm always worried that I'm tainting what made the movie great. So glad you don't think so!

Claudette: As always, you're review was very insightful! As for recounting the scenes in the movie…well I have to admit I cheat and rewatch the part of the movie I'm about to write my scene about. It takes time but I think details are wonderful things to build on. I'm pleased that you appreciate the way the father/son relationship is growing. Thank you for your wonderful support!

Sawyer Fan: Thanks for your fantastic review! Glad you sided with me on that whole Mina Quatermain scene…I know others won't be so accepting of that scene! I appreciate that you like how I'm incorporating the movie scenes with the story…it's rough going sometimes and makes me very uncertain of each chapter's reception! Hope to hear your thoughts on this chapter!

LXGFanGirl: Thanks for the great review! And procrastinating with a fanfiction story…that's my favorite pastime! I appreciate your encouragement!

Julia: The fact that you took the time to really read my story…sometimes reading sentences twice is an absolutely wonderful compliment! Thank you! Hope your internet behaves from here on out! Life without the internet! That makes me cringe just hearing your tale of woe! Looking forward to your next review!

Q1120790: Your review had me "ah shucks"ing! What wonderful things you say! It's definitely going to my head! Thank you so much for your support and belief in me and my writing because that really helps to quiet the jitters I get whenever I post another chapter. Anxious to hear your thoughts on this chapter!

Kingleby: I was overwhelmed by your loyalty! Thank you so much for taking the time to review the last four chapters! That was very kind of you! So glad you enjoyed my reference to painting the fence…guess you're a Mark Twain fan..like me! Thank you for enjoying the emotions I've tried to convey with each chapter! That tells me I'm doing my job as a writer of angst!

Amanda Hope: Thank you for your wonderful compliments! And it's a relief to me that you "loved" last chapter and that you think the emotions expressed feel real! Can't wait to hear from you about this chapter!

Ten Mara: You're always so understanding! Thank you for forgiving me for omitting some of the movie scenes! And because of your review, I felt safe to do more of that "good bonding time on the way to Mongolia" between Tom and Allan. With a story like this which seems to not have any meat to it, it's really hard to keep going for the emotional scenes when you think you're boring your audience to tears! Thank you for encouraging me to still keep to the emotional plotline. You're a wonderful friend whose opinion I value!

Well, that's it for now. Next stop…Mongolia!


	13. Chapter 13

Peace

By: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I don't own The League of the Extraordinary Gentlemen or anything in conjunction with LXG nor am I making a profit from this story. No copyright infringement is intended. Sadly, I do not own Tom Sawyer either.

Author's notes: In a desperate effort to finally get this chapter posted, I'm going to omit my usual reply to reviewers. I hate to do it because you guys are the heart of why I take the effort to post! So please accept my apologies and heartfelt thanks to my wonderful reviewers: Sawyer Fan, LXGFanGirl, Loopey-Laura, q1120790, kingleby, ten mara, julia, amanda hope, and dralx

And a special thank you to Someone Reading for encouraging me to get this chapter written. Without your wonderful support and prodding this chapter would still be MIA. Also I want to offer lookwaya618 (aka kidblink182) a special thank you for that nudging, encouraging 2nd review that you tricked the system to submit. Your efforts are much appreciated.

Now on with the show!

Chapter 13

Stepping onto the conning tower, Quatermain found his quarry, just as he knew he would…ill clad for the cold yet too reckless to care. Gripping the coat in his hand that matched the one he already wore, Allan shook his head in disbelief and exasperation at the sight of Tom Sawyer, sans a coat, leaning on the railing, his eyes closed and a smile on his face as if it were the sun hitting his face instead of a crippling artic breeze. "Put on this bloody coat before you're frozen through," Allan gruffly commanded, tossing the white fur lined coat to the younger man.

Catching the coat with ease, Sawyer simply smirked rebelliously at the older man, knowing it would evoke a reaction from Quatermain. True to prediction, the hunter speared him with a challenging glare, sending a warm feeling into Tom's heart. With a quirky smile, Sawyer shrugged into the contours of the coat with slow deliberation, making no move to do up the buttons. Resuming his position, he leaned once again on the railing, his eyes soaking up the white frozen landscape of Mongolia.

Leaning his back against the railing, Allan's gaze rested on Tom, the Mongolia tundra no competition for his attention. An old tiger could be taught new tricks. He could learn to focus on what mattered most in life…and it sure wasn't the scenery, or the hunt or even the quarry. Harry's death had taught him that…and yet he had still almost forgotten that lesson…until this moment, until the future lay ahead, dangerous, unpredictable and without mercy. Allan swallowed hard, Tom looked so young, so vulnerable, his face hardly sporting more color than the white fur that rested against his face. '_How can I let him walk into the battle ahead? The odds so badly against us that I can't stomach to do a calculation? If harm should come to him_…' ruthlessly he broke off that thought. He couldn't bear to have another son lost. Not again. Opening his mouth, Allan intended to expose his feelings for the boy and beg for Sawyer's absence from the attack but Sawyer's quiet words filled the silence first.

"Huck loved the cold," Tom announced, his eyes never wavering from the snow covered terrain. "When the Mississippi river would freeze over, Huck was the first one out there, trying to break Billy Wartan's sliding record." With a smirk, Tom explained, "See Billy nearly slid across the whole river at Thomason's bend."

Tom's reminiscing scattered Allan's proposed plea to the four winds as the adventurer was hit with the truth. This was as much Tom's battle as it was his…maybe more. Though he had begun to perceive Sawyer as his son, and as such, someone who needed his protection, in truth the American was an agent with a mission to complete, a man with a wrong to right, a friend with an oath to uphold.

Allan barely heard Tom's next words, their quiet hurt almost stolen on the wind.

"Huck woulda loved seeing this."

Gently Quatermain advised, "Then enjoy it for the both of you," his words earning him a sharp look from his companion. With some hesitation, the elder man clarified, "Memories of loved ones should bring us joy…even when those we love are gone. The blessing of memories is that we get to keep a part of that person in our soul, forever."

Contemplation sparked in Sawyer's eyes before a dangerous smile turned up his lips. "Well, then let's hit the snow," he announced, a gleam of a reckoning yet to be unleashed in his eyes.

The look ignited a new level of fear within Quatermain, causing his arm to shoot out and clutch tightly to Sawyer's forearm. His breath billowing white clouds, Allan implored, "Promise to be careful," his tone lacking the quality of strength one expected from the great white hunter but drowning in the gut wrenching fear of a father terrified that he was addressing his son for the last time.

Touched instead of frustrated by Allan's all too obvious concern, Sawyer obediently swore, trying hard to keep the smirk off his features, "I promise to be as careful as I can be in a fortress filled with invisible men, vampires, Hydes and a hundred bad guys who are able to deflect bullets off their armor,"

"Well, that certainly eases my mind," Quatermain sarcastically muttered, trapping the younger man's head in a headlock even as Sawyer's laughter vibrated in the wind as the agent replied, "I thought it would."

Releasing the American from the headlock, Allan playfully pushed Sawyer toward the door, "Come on Mr. Smart Aleck. Let's go find some bad guys before I decide that putting my boot up your butt like you deserve would be more rewarding."

"Capital punishment is being phased out you know," Sawyer taunted with a look over his shoulder.

"Not in Europe it isn't," Allan countered, a gleam in his eye. "Here we still have the right to chastise our children as they deserve."

"I knew you foreigners were all sadists," Tom shot back, a twinkle in his eyes as he dashed for the door and slid down the ladder like a professional firefighter before Allan could take up pursuit.

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Snow fell as the league of gentlemen trekked across the barren land of Mongolia, soft and light and callously cold.

"Bloody cold place for a hide away," Jekyll criticized as he pulled his white parka tighter to him.

Ahead of him, Sawyer quipped, "Yeah, well, my travel agent said Mongolia would practically be tropical this time of year. Maybe M went to the same travel agent I did." Increasing his stride, the American drew abreast to Mina, "You doing OK?" his eyes searching her porcelain features for what she wouldn't say.

"I'm sorry," she stated, shooting a speculative glance to Sawyer as she continued, "for not realizing Dorian's true motives. I should have remembered who he was…not what I wanted him to be."

"He fooled the lot of us," Tom easily acknowledged with a shrug of his shoulders, hoping to assuage her guilt even as his own clung to him.

"You never trusted him," she speculated, hoping to draw out an explanation.

But Sawyer was used to such interrogative methods. With a deadly smile he replied, "yeah, well, I don't trust anybody. It's a prerequisite in my profession."

"Ah…"Mina drew out with a lightness in her eyes that had been missing, "so you're saying that you don't trust me either."

A devilishly handsome smile lit up Sawyer's face, "Oh, I never trust a beautiful woman…a broken heart's an injury I'm not willing to suffer…even for God and country."

"Oh, I don't know. I think I could make it worth your while," Mina's eyes promising pleasures that Tom Sawyer had been sorely missing.

"I bet you could," Tom admitted charmingly before he winked and picked up his pace to come even with their fearless leader. "So are we there yet?" he quirked, earning him a glare from Quatermain.

"She's dangerous, you know?" Allan murmured, his words only reaching Sawyer, even as his eyes did not leave their intent inspection of the white expansion ahead of them.

"Really?" Tom sarcastically drawled. "You know I'd never have come up with that on my own."

Turning his look upon Tom, Allan gently began "All I'm saying is …"

"Watch my back…and my neck…and every other vein supporting blood. Hey, I'm not too far gone that I forget about self preservation," Tom reassured, his tone telling the elder man that his warning was welcome even if it was basically not necessary.

"Self preservation?" Allan mocked, his eyebrow raised as he shot a reprimanding look to his young companion. "I didn't think you knew the meaning, what with your death defying feats, reckless antics and penchant to hide your injuries."

"All a deception to impress you. I'm quite a cowardly recluse at heart," Tom parried back.

Allan snorted, "Cowardly recluse my behind!" causing Sawyer to burst into laughter. A moment later, Allan's own laughter mixed with the younger man's. "If all Americans are as stubborn as you are, no wonder we lost the bloody war."

Slinging his arm over Allan's shoulders, Tom conspiringly drew the older man closer and spoke quietly in his ear, "I could tell you why we really beat you..but then I'd have to kill you."

Instead of dismissing Sawyer's jest, Allan chose to acknowledge the percent of truth in the young spy's threat. "I don't need to know that bloody badly," he blustered, his serious reply arousing a surprised look from the American. "What? I know you're no pussy cat, Secret Service Agent Sawyer, no matter how much boyish charm you can unleash."

Crazy as it was, that was one of the best compliments a seasoned man of adventure such as Allan Quatermain could offer to the young spy. It instilled some confidence in Sawyer that had started to leak away under the duress of this particular mission. Confidence that he sorely needed as the final confrontation with M loomed ahead.

Adopting a light tone, he drawled, "I knew you'd see things my way," gave Quatermain's shoulder a companionable squeeze before releasing him. "Now, explain this tea and crumpets custom you have? It's actually about being able to drink some brandy in the middle of the day, isn't it?" Tom grilled as they trudged forward in the unrelenting weather.

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Waiting, Tom Sawyer did it poorly. No matter that he had been trained by the best in the business to wait out the ending of time if that's what it took to entrap the bad guys in the world. Outwardly he seemed unaware of the long hours ticking by a century a second as they huddled in the cave, awaiting Skinner's arrival. But inwardly, inwardly dwelt the ten year old boy who squirmed in his church pew, unleashed frogs in the aisles and tied girl's pig tales into knots.

After an hour huddled in the cave's entrance, even conversation had dwindled into silence.

Furtively, Tom's gaze would flicker to the dark depths of the cave and he would fight off the shiver of fear that made his every breath a struggle. Of all the places for this rendezvous, why did it have to be a cave! Wasn't there enough tension humming through his body without adding his irrational fear of caves!

He nearly leapt to his feet as a hand clamped down on his shoulder. It did his heart no good when he snapped his head up to find that there was no one standing by his side.

"Easy, pup, easy. It's just your old invisible pal, Skinner," Skinner's rough British voice placated as Sawyer felt the departure of the hand on his shoulder.

With relief, Tom watched a white coat seemingly levitate in the air before it was put on a body yet unseen. Then a well known canister floated out of the pocket and white paint was liberally applied to skin that moments ago was seemingly non existent. "You all seem to have lost your sense of humor during my absence," the now visible man quirked, smiling down at the young American who leaned against the cave wall.

"Well I guess you can see right through us," Sawyer quirked, hoping to cover up his rattled nerves.

"Great now the bloody invisible jokes begin," Skinner drawled but there was appreciative humor in his tone as he directed a smile at the youngest member of the league.

Shooting a worried glance at Sawyer that told the younger man his uneasiness had not gone unnoticed by the hunter, Quatermain came to stand in front of their once mistrusted league member. "Skinner, I didn't know you were such a barefaced liar," he charged, causing tension to choke the occupants in the cave before he allowed his smile to show. "All that time pretending that you weren't a hero."

"Truly, you're more than the eye can see," Tom quipped, a smirk on his lips as he looked up at the thief who he had missed among their numbers.

"Ha..ha," Skinner retorted, "Move over and let the frozen man feel some heat," he said as he claimed a seat beside Sawyer, reaching his now gloved hands out to the fire. Realizing that he had the rapt attention of the cave's occupants, he set about relaying his information about M's "summer retreat", as Sawyer had dubbed it. With his invaluable knowledge of the fortress and it's operation, it didn't take long to hammer out the plan of attack for the next day. Skinner was not surprised when Quatermain assigned himself the task of confronting M any more than he was shocked that the hunter paired himself with Sawyer. '_I knew the pup would get to the old boy_,' Skinner's smile visible via his white makeup. '_If those two were any more alike, we'd have to call Sawyer junior.'_

With some quiet levity that strove to mask the apprehension for the morrow, supper was consumed. Then the gathered invasion force bedded down for the night, dousing out the fire so their presence would remain veiled from M and casting the cave into black oblivion.

Tom's breath caught in his throat as the void seemed to squeeze the very air from his lungs. He remembered too vividly another cave, another pitch-blackness that clawed at his soul, another maze too intricate to navigate. And then there were the bats…and Injun Joe.

Surging from the ground he nearly stumbled over the other slumbering league members to get to the only diminutive source of light this night offered. His breaths came in gasps as he leaned against the cave's outside wall, the sliver of moonlight as lifesaving as his first breath of air after he nearly drown in the Mississippi.

"Are you alright?" came Skinner's voice.

Jerking his head to the right, Sawyer saw the invisible man, bearing his white makeup perched on the rock, rifle in hand. "Sorry, I didn't see you there," he breathed out before he corrected, "I didn't mean that literally just…"

"You didn't remember that someone would be out here," Skinner aided the obliviously shaken younger man.

"Yeah. I just needed a breath of fresh air," Tom tried to casually offer, standing more erect and taking in an oblivious deep breath.

"Cave's a mite stuffy I noticed," Skinner quietly offered. "Truth is, I'm actually glad for the company. Guard duty's not my forte. Too bloody boring."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Tom agreed, coming over and claiming a spot beside Skinner on the rock. He drew his feet up on the rock and wrapped his arms around his legs, his eyes transfixed by the thumbnail of moon that offered him the light he so sorely needed.

Watching his companion, Skinner lightly joked, "So that's why you didn't volunteer for this miserable job."

Without looking away from the moon, Tom quietly replied, "I did volunteer."

"Ahh…" Skinner drawled as if it were all clear to him now.

Shooting a perplexed look to Skinner, Tom demanded, "Ahhhh. What's that mean?"  
"It means you volunteered and Quatermain shot down the idea."

Tom stilled, uncertain how the man could have overheard his conversation with Quatermain when he wasn't 'invisible' anymore.

Seeing the question in the other man's gaze, Rodney smiled gently, "It ain't hard to figure that one out, pup. You look like hell."

"Hey, thanks," Tom growled, intending to get up but Skinner's gloved hand shot out and latched onto his arm.

"Don't go runnin' off cause I have the stomach to tell you the truth," Skinner requested, his tone more gentle than the words he used.

Warily, Sawyer eyed the other man, "I think the truth's something one should only use when lyin' isn't working."

Quiet laughter erupted from Skinner as he lightly pounded the spy's back. "Kid, I've missed you."

Concluding that he sat with a friend, Tom, abandoning his notion of 'runnin' off', smiled. "Guess I'm a mite better company than Dorian or M, huh?"

"You have no idea," Skinner drawled before a companionable silence fell on the two men for a few minutes.

"So how'd you know Gray was a traitor?" Sawyer inquired even as he wondered why he himself had not made that conclusion.

"I didn't." This reply gained Sawyer's full attention, causing Rodney Skinner to sigh_. 'You should know better than to have a conversation with a spy where you want to keep some things unsaid,'_ he chastised himself before he meet the spy's questioning gaze. "All I knew was I didn't like the bloke, alright! Didn't like 'em and surely didn't trust 'em. And when it seemed mischief was about.."

"You fingered him as the culprit," Tom finished, almost displaying envy and guilt in his tone. "Damn why didn't I see his deception coming!"

"I had a 'feeling' but I didn't react quick enough to prevent him from sabotaging the Nautilus."

"What brought this feeling on? Why didn't you trust him?"

Rodney wanted to unleash a string of curses. This was actually the question he had been afraid the American would think to ask. Nervously he cleared his throat, "It wasn't much really." Shooting a assessing glance to Sawyer he knew he wasn't going to be left off the hook on this topic. "Alright. Alright! I heard him talking to you in your room, going through your things…threatening you."

Whatever clues for Dorian's deception Tom envisioned Skinner had based his mistrust on, it wasn't this. "You were there?" surprise and embarrassment in his tone.

Misinterpreting the tone, Skinner apologized. "I know! I should have broken things up between you two, hauled his pompous butt out of your room!"

"This was your basis for thinking Gray was the traitor?" the spy smirked, a light of tender appreciation in his eyes that the night masked from the invisible man.

"Yeah. Hey in my world judging people quick and correctly is the difference between making off with the loot and getting pinched," the thief defended.

"The difference in my world is life or death," Tom quietly acknowledged, angry all over again at having missed the signs that so pointedly unveiled Gray's true motives for joining the league.

"Hey don't blame yourself. All I had was the same feelings we all did…that Dorian was a pain in the backside. Thing is, I'm a little more equipped to stand at his side unnoticed while he goes about his business."

His mood lightened at the other man's words, Tom turned laughing eyes to Rodney, "Goes about his business!" he said mirth in his tone.

"Not that kinda of bloody business!" Skinner scoffed, ruffling Sawyer's hair good-naturedly as the American laughed. Seriousness coated Skinner's next words, "Sides, with you, Gray wasn't going to make a misstep. M had apparently already warned him about you."

Tom stilled at this news. "So M and Gray had a way of communicating even after Gray joined the league."

"Apparently. M also had some choice words about you after you saved Venice," his pride at the young spy's actions slipping into the thief's tone.

"Oh really," Tom drawled with a cocky smile. "Now that's the kinda of recognition I was looking for."

"Oh you had the old Fantom's attention way before you joined our little band," Skinner happily reported, unaware of the sadness linked with Sawyer's previous encounter with M. The stillness that settled over the younger man at his side told him that he had unknowingly struck a nerve.

"At the docks," Tom tightly concluded. "He remembered me from the docks."

"Remembered you?" Skinner scoffed, "He hired bloody assassins to track you down."

"And I go and spoil it by joining his party."

"That definitely put him out, not to mention he's out that money he paid the assassins in London."

"Maybe he'll take an IOU from me to cover his losses," Tom said, the dangerous glint in his eyes almost colder than the Mongolia night.

"If he has any survival instincts in his bones, he'll run like hell when he sees you," the invisible league member concluded.

"His running days are over," Tom swore malevolently, his pitiless tone easily reaching the ears of the man who leaned against the interior wall of the cave.

By nature Allan Quatermain was not an eavesdropper. Sure he had done it for Queen and Country but that temporary breach of honor had been pardoned under the necessity of national security. This venture into that reproachable action had no such holy intentions. The truth was, he desperately wanted to hear the exchange between the two men, to know what Tom would tell the thief but would not tell him.

The hunter's jaw had clenched as Skinner had reminisced about Dorian's 'visit' with Sawyer and the threat he had left behind. '_Why didn't Tom tell me this? I would have put bloody Gray in his place!' _But moments later, his anger was washed away under an onslaught of cold fear at the mention of assassins being dispatched for Sawyer. _'If Sawyer had stayed in London, if I hadn't let him join the league…'_ Quatermain's head swam with what ifs and what could have beens, terrified to know the other outcomes that were possible. '_Safer with me then without me_,' that had been his thought with Harry. '_As if taking my son into a bloody dangerous situation with me was better than letting him back in Africa to live his own life. As if I and I alone could protect his life from the fate that befalls every soul. What a fool I had been then…and now. Sawyer is not safer with me, no matter how much I strive to guard him against harm, I can't protect him. And the truth is, that's not even something he 'wants' from me. He's not a child to be sheltered, Quatermain. You know this. He's a spy on a mission. He needs someone to watch his back, he needs a colleague…not a father.'_

But even as he drew that conclusion, Allan knew in his heart of hearts that it was too late to adopt that mind set. Sawyer had come to mean too much to him, had caused too many repressed paternal instincts to awaken. Tom may not be a child or even his child but somewhere along the hellish trek from London to Mongolia, Allan Quatermain, tough ex spy, hunter extraordinaire had been transformed into an overprotective, fretting father.

His own words came back to him, sharp and clear. '"_This cannot be a hunt to the death, lad_,"' leaving his own resolve unspoken. Now he voiced it quietly and menacingly, "Not for you, son, not for you. As for me…I'm going to make sure M meets his date with death. No longer will he be a threat to this world…or you."

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Inside M's fortress, the league members seemed little more than toy soldiers, ineffectual and small against the backdrop of the massive structure. As their eyes met in the abandoned hall, silence fell on the courageous members of the league of extraordinary gentlemen. The time was at hand, victory or defeat, life or death, war or peace. Today, here in this once opulent surroundings, their fates and the fate of the very world would be decided.

'_No pressure,_' Tom sarcastically groused to himself as the full weight of responsibility for world peace pressed upon his soul. He was heartened to see the same weight seemingly settle on the other league member's shoulders as their hands rested upon one another. They were in this together and together they would see it finished…or die trying.

In his turn he met each member's eyes, trying valiantly to convey what he felt for each person, to give them what strength he could spare to help fortify them for their own fight against this union of darkness M had assembled. But on one person he dared not look. Saying a provisional goodbye to Allan Quatermain wasn't necessary…they would travel this last path at each other's side and be the unrelenting force that brought M to his knees.

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As Sawyer and Quatermain maneuvered through the vast fortress, the hunter's innate sense of direction leading them through the maze of hallways, the spy could feel the tension humming through the older man. With clarity Tom knew he, unintentionally, was the cause for some of Allan's apprehension. No matter how many times he had tried to ease the older man's guilt over his son's death, it still clung to the adventurer. And that guilt was now at a crescendo, causing the infamous ex spy to doubt his ability to protect Sawyer in the battle to come, to have misgivings at the decision to have anyone else's life in his incompetent hands, hands that had held his dying son instead of finding someway of protecting the boy.

When this whole hunt had begun, Sawyer would have met this reaction from Quatermain with a gruff boast of 'I don't need you to protect me,' but things had changed, he had changed. The idea that Allan 'wanted' to protect him…that touched him more deeply than he thought possible. And deep down, where he kept everything that made him vulnerable to harm, he admitted he 'liked' Allan's protectiveness, even welcomed it. But he would not utter those words, would not drop his last line of defense against pain. Instead he called out to Quatermain, "You lead, I follow," his words coming ease, his trust in Allan unswerving, trust he knew was not misplaced. Just as Harry's trust, no matter how things had turned out, had not been misguided.

Sawyer's words pierced through any barriers Allan Quatermain still had erected. He rebelled against Tom's devotion even as he reveled in it. Second chances…they scared him worse than anything as he maneuvered the great hallways, Sawyer at his back and dread in his heart. '_This time things will be alright. Evil will lose, good will win. Tom won't be taken from me like Harry was. I won't let that happen!'_

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The Fantom was without his mask but Tom Sawyer knew that stride, recognized the bold ego that emanated from the man that stalked across the room only a few feet away. Judgment day had arrived. Huck would be avenged and justice would be served. Even as he prepared to raise his rifle, to send a bullet through the heart of his best friend's murderer, Allan stepped forward, pressing his rifle barrel against the base of M's neck.

With his heart pounding in his chest, Tom kept his rifle trained on M, wondering what Quatermain's next move would be, fearing that this might well be the point in the journey where his own path was about to diverge irrevocable from the man he had come to respect above all men. Letting M live while Huck had died…that was something Tom didn't think he could bear…even if he had to go through Allan to see that justice done.

Suddenly his instinct gave a shout of warning. Without turning around, the spy smashed the butt of his rifle into the man who was sneaking up behind them. The distraction was but a second…but Tom was to learn what Huck had learned at a very high cost. M never wasted distractions.

Sawyer was about to take up pursuit of the fleeing M when he saw the man unleash a knife into the air…directed at Allan. '_Not this time, you bastard_!' Tom vowed, calling out "Watch out!" as he crashed into Quatermain, sending them to the ground while the knife imbedded into a painting behind where the hunter had stood a second earlier. "Eyes open boy. I can't protect you all the time," he taunted wearing his trade mark smirk as he basked in Allan's embarrassed, disgruntled look, thanking God that this time he had been able to stop the Fantom from taking someone he loved. "Come on, let's finish this," he said, aiding Quatermain to his feet and letting the hunter take the lead as they took up pursuit of their wily prey.

Finding themselves with M just a few paces ahead, victory seemed inevitable. Until someone unseen slammed Sawyer into the wall and the spy, mistakenly assuming he knew his assailant's identity, urged Quatermain to continue his chase of M. It took but one sight of the knife levitating in the air, sweeping for his throat, for Sawyer to know the true depths of his error. All invisible men were not created equally.

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There was no honor in the battle that waged between M and Quatermain, the stakes were too high for such considerations. Every tactic was fair game, every object was a weapon. War or peace was in the balance. There could be no compromise, not here, not now.

"To the death," M growled, attacking the hunter with fervor only to be thwarted by the adventurer's uncanny agility. "I hope I have your fire at your age."

"You won't live beyond today, I promise you that!" Allan vowed, struggling to press his advantage to put actions to words. To rid the world of this man's evil, to avenge Tom Sawyer's grief and pain, to spare the young spy the soiled soul murder always left behind…whether the murder was justified or not.

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His guns lying useless on the ground, his back against the wall, death seemingly inevitable, Tom Sawyer did what he had done all his life. He braced himself for what would come and took a stand, the metal torch sconce tightly in his grasp. Going out like a crispy marshmallow hadn't been in his equation but he could face that fate bravely, knowing that Quatermain would honor the oath he had once given him. He would see justice done, he would kill M if Sawyer could not.

Tightening his grasp on the only weapon left to him, Tom Sawyer prepared to fight with the last breath he had. In surprise, he watched the flame throwing tin man stumbling a moment before a disembodied voice ordered "Sawyer! Run for it!". Before Tom could guess Skinner's intentions, a pipe pierced the tank on the armored man's back. In a panic, the villain spun around, his flame sqorching all it's path..and igniting the fleeing invisible man.

In horror and worry, the spy saw Skinner's outline..not in white paint but fire. With a yell of rage, he swung the sconce into the already damaged tank. Crashing to his knees, M's assassin barely drew another breath before the tanks on his back exploded. Fear clutching his heart, Tom left the charred man's corpse without a glance, intent on finding Skinner.

Tom's knees went weak at the sight of Skinner's burned skin, his body shaking in pain. "Skinner," the agent choked out past his constricted throat as he knelt down beside the injured man, terrified that his touch would only intensify the Skinner's agony. '_Why'd you save me, Skinner! Why'd you put yourself at risk! I'm not worth..this.' _

"That's the last time I play with matches," Skinner's agony laced voice bravely joked.

Uncertain how he could ever thank Skinner for saving his life or be forgiven for the terrible cost his rescue was evoking from the other him, Tom swallowed hard before he opened his mouth. He never got a chance to utter a sound.

He would know the cold steely touch of a knife even in a cave. The blade bit into his throat, causing him to lift his head and fight the need to swallow. '_Damn. I should have known a knife would be the end of me…like it had been for Huck. Maybe this was Injun Joe's curse on us, he always did favor a blade.'_

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Sawyer thought he was prepared for whatever lay at the end of the trek he and M's invisible man were taking. But now, seeing the scene before him, he knew how wrong he was. Leverage…that's what he was and it left a bitter taste in his mouth and a whirlpool of dread in his gut.

"…Wrong. Wrong about your little American friend as well. You really think he's ready for action. I think you trained him about as well as you trained your son," M taunted, holding up the mask to reflect the scene behind Quatermain.

Sawyer opened his mouth to yell, "Kill him Allan!" but the blade pressed brutally against his throat, cutting off his breath and causing his words to be trapped inside his own mind. '_Kill him, Allan! Don't fall for his tricks like I did, like Huck did!'_

In horror, Sawyer watched the man he loved like a father, seemingly commit suicide by turning his back on M. As his assailant's body jerked with the impact of Quatermain's bullet, Sawyer nearly tumbled to the ground in an effort to escape the reflexive motion of the corpse's hand as it slid, the knife still clutched in it's dead grasp.

Allan's action had been without thought, without regret and without a kernel of concern for himself or the fate of the world. The only thing that had mattered was protecting Sawyer, keeping his adoptive son safe. Even as M's knife sank into his back, his relief at seeing Sawyer on the landing, unharmed and free from threat didn't diminish nor did he regret his choice. His life for Tom's, that was an outcome he readily accepted.

As he withdrew his broken glasses from his pocket, Allan recognized the hands of fate. "Get 'em," he ordered, sending Sawyer to the crack in the wall which M had made his escape, Matilda in his hands and vengeance in his grasp. Here and now there were no blurred lines between vengeance and justice, murder and duty. If M escaped bearing the box, the whole world would reap the unholy consequences.

"It's too far," Tom faltered, feeling the enormous weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Take your time," Allan instructed, "You're ready ." Pain and weakness blossomed in his chest causing him to stumble back into the support of a chair but he would not leave Sawyer, not until his boy no longer needed his support. "Take your time," he wheezed, vividly remembering the spark of joy he had felt when he had uttered those words to the American on the submarine just days prior, paternal feelings long buried surfacing quicker than the Nautilus. Now those feelings were emanating from every pore he owned as he watched Tom save the world, prouder of the boy than he could ever express.

"I got him!" the spy exclaimed, surprised by his own skill and exhilarated by the victory. Seeking Quatermain's approval like he would his father's, Tom spun around only to freeze as if pole axed. It was Allan's eyes that pierced into Tom's heart with sharp cruelty. He had seen that look before…on a London dock, in the eyes of Huckleberry Finn, a look of apology, of regret, of sadness, of pain and brave acceptance of the hand fate had dealt him. '_Noooooo_!' boomed in his head, denial, anger, guilt and gut wrenching despair meshed in his soul. '_Not Quatermain, too! God, it's supposed to me this time! My life for his! Never his life for mine_!'

TBC

Love to hear your thoughts! I think there will be just one more chapter to go!

Cheryl W.


	14. Chapter 14

Peace

By: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I don't own The League of the Extraordinary Gentlemen or anything in conjunction with LXG nor am I making a profit from this story. No copyright infringement is intended. Sadly, I do not own Tom Sawyer either.

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Chapter 14

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A lone figure stood on the conning tower, seemingly oblivious to Mongolia's arctic cold that kissed his skin with the promise of frostbite or to the gales that tousled his blond locks, causing his white shirt and cotton pants to flap like over-exuberant flags. Nor did he register the presence of the man that stood behind him, whose eyes watched him in helpless concern. No, there was only one thing that had the ability to seize the solitary figure's attention: a funnel of smoke that crept up into the clouds, soiling them black.

The other man let his own gaze rest upon the telltale sign of destruction and, where he had once believed the sight would give him satisfaction, even pleasure, now it only brought him more pain. M was dead, his fortress burning, victory had been won. _'But at what cost? Was it at a cost that this young valiant man can bear to carry?' _ Those ruminations too dark and incalculable for such a man of logic, he pushed them from the forefront of his mind and stepped forward to stand beside the despairing man. "You should put this on," he quietly ordered as he held out a winter coat to the American.

Numbly, Tom Sawyer, pulling his gaze from the soiled sky, looked down at the coat like it was something foreign to him. He made no move to take the garment as his eyes swung up to meet the Captain's.

Whatever breath the cold had not robbed from Nemo's lungs was snatched away by the utter despair in Sawyer's eyes. Struggling to say something to ease the other's agony of spirit, the Indian found himself awash with failure. He didn't know any words or sentiments to balm the young spy's hurts and he felt wretchedly for repaying Sawyer's steadying presence at Ishmael's side so inadequately. In bitter truth, Nemo knew that only one man would have known what effective words of consolation to say to Tom Sawyer …but that man was not here.

Shying away from Nemo's pitying gaze, Tom focused on the coat the captain held out to him. With measured motion, the American took hold of the coat, instantly crushing the downy fabric in his clenched hands while making no move to don the garment.

Afraid that the coat would not get the chance to offer the protection it could to the young man, Nemo quietly said, "He would not want you to neglect your own well being." Whatever reaction Nemo had envisioned his reference to Allan Quatermain would have on the young man, he was wrong. There was no reaction, as if the wind had stolen his words away, never to allow them to break through the barrier the young man had constructed around his heart and soul. Contemplating the necessity of physically putting the coat to its intended use, Nemo nearly jumped when the other man's detached voice interrupted the howl of the wind.

"I know." Then with slow deliberation, Sawyer shrugged into the coat, fastening the buttons as if the task required his full attention.

Mollified that the young man would at least not succumb to the cold, Nemo nearly sighed. As pathetic as this accomplishment was, he knew it was the best he could achieve for the young man. So without another word he walked away, leaving Tom Sawyer alone on the conning tower with his pain.

With Nemo's departure, a shiver shook Tom's body, not born of the coldness of body but that of the spirit. Wrapping his arms around himself did nothing to temper the reaction. '_Keep it together, Sawyer_!' he screamed internally. '_You don't have the right to fall apart! You don't have the right for sympathy! You don't have the right to a release from your pain! You don't even have the right to breathe another breath!'_

But he did breathe, deeper and harsher until he sank to his knees, bowed his head and locked his jaw, unwilling to unleash the sob that threatened to overwhelm his every fiber. Everything he had sworn to conquer, every emotion he swore to conceal, it all seemed to shatter into a thousand shards that embed themselves in his soul. All the good he had hoped to accomplish in his life, all the evil within himself that he had tried so hard to diminish, it had all been a pipe dream, futile and naïve.

Unleashing a roar of frustration, despair and anger that drew all the air from his lungs, Sawyer sat back on his hunches, his eyes searing into the clouds above. "Why them! Why him! Why didn't You punish me! WHY DIDN'T YOU PUNISH ME!" he screamed, demanding an explanation, a justification for the unbearable outcome of the league's adventure. But there was no reply to his question, no succor offered to his soul.

It was ironic that, on a boat full of over a hundred people, he felt utterly alone. '_Alone, that's what you should have been all along. People that get close to you, they come to rue the day they met you…if they live that long. How many more people will you condemn because you are unwilling to walk away! Who will be next? Mina? Jekyll? Nemo? The whole crew of the Nautilus! When are you going to have the guts to do the right thing and walk away from the League, from the Secret Service, from anyone you care about?'_

"Starting right now," he bitterly vowed, his words whipped away by the wind as he repositioned himself on the floor, his back braced against the conning tower. With a ragged breath, he leaned his head back against the frozen tower, watching as the plume of black smoke blotted out the white clouds. It seemed more a sign of defeat than victory, of a time to despair than to rejoice. Bitterly Tom wondered if M's fate and the league's had always been irrevocably intermingled. That to conquer the madman they also had to suffer a defeat of their own.

"Victory," he said aloud, his voice rough and bitter. Even the word left a vile taste in his mouth and a crater size hole in his heart. Ruthlessly his own thoughts contradicted his musings, '_This isn't about victory over M! This is about me! Skinner attacked that flame throwing tin can man to save me! Quatermain.._' he clenched his teeth, holding back the emotions that clamored to find release as he mercilessly finished his thought, "_And Allan, he turned his back on his enemy, on one of the most murderous bastards in the history of the world, to save me. Me, not for the world, not for another member of the league, not for some wild eyed innocent, but for me. He did it for me, felt the knife stab into his back knowing he felt that pain because of me. Felt his life ebbing away even as I'm acting like some pathetic school boy as my shot takes down M. I'm celebrating and he's dy…_' Tom bowed his head, his hands clenching his hair. He could not go there, he wouldn't let that thought curse whatever grace that allowed Allan to cling however precariously to this life.

Vividly the scene in that cold, tower room played in his head again, taunting him with hope, drowning him in fear. Allan Quatermain still drew breath but how long could the man's spirit stave off the total failure of his gravely wounded body! How long could the hunter shut out his body's plea for an escape from agony? Unbidden Huck's words rang in Tom's ears over the whine of the wind, "Even the stubborn ones die. It's my time, Tom."

Allan had not said those words, but as Tom sat here alone and colder than he had ever been, he knew the truth. '_He didn't have to say them, I read the expression in his eyes, the same expression Huck had..right before he left me. And I couldn't bear to hear the words, to hell with what Allan needed to say, I shut him down. Made it about me, made my demands known. Linked his soul to mine, his fate to mine_. _Guilt, that's what I offered him instead of telling him I loved him. He's bearing this agony to stay here for me, to save me! Damn it! Wasn't it enough that he sacrificed his life for me! Why have I condemned him to this living hell!'_

The long held back sob burst from him as he hunched over, his head bowed, his hands buried in his wind swept hair. He knew what he had to do, what he should have done in M's fortress as he saw the light fading in Allan's eyes.

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Seeing the light fading in Allan's eyes, Tom swiftly came to his side, dropping to his knees, his trembling hand shooting out to clutch unto his mentor's hands. "You're gonna be fine," his voice tremulous and emphatic.

His breath coming only with great effort, Quatermain's response was a small shake of his head. He had things he wanted to say to the boy, promises he wanted to offer, love he wanted to express but his own body was failing him, turning traitor here at the last. With agony of spirit, he felt the hands that held his own cling more tightly to him, saw the mounting fear and pain in the young man's eyes. This was not what he wanted to leave to the courageous man he had come to love but fate was claiming his soul, mercilessly and without his consent. He wondered if these same thoughts had gone through Harry's mind as his life ebbed away, the desire to stay strong within him but the pull of his fate inescapable.

Desperately, Tom drew closer to the man that felt more father than mentor. "You told me that Africa wouldn't let you die…well neither will I. Now show me that British grit and let's get outta here," he growled. Then, not waiting for the hunter's protests, he put his arm around Quatermain and pulled the seemingly mortally wounded man to his feet.

Stifling a cry of pain, Alan could hardly believe he was standing, though nearly all his weight was upon the younger man. "No..I ..I can't. Go," he protested and ordered, unwilling to let the building crash down upon Sawyer's head as the younger man made a futile attempt to rescue him from a fate that had already been sealed.

"Not without you," Tom vowed, stumbling for the door with his burden. "M stole my best friend from me if he takes you from me…"

"M lost..he's dead," Allan assured as darkness began to fall over his vision.

When Allan stumbled, Tom forcefully braced the weakening man against the wall, his eyes obstinately snagging unto the fading light in Allan's eyes, refusing to relinquish the spirit that still burned in the soul. His breath hit Allan's face, even as his anguish reached into the adventurer's very heart. "I can't lose you too! If you're going to just give up then you should have just let M's henchman slit my throat!"

In horror, Allan saw the truth in Tom's eyes, knew that the young man's words weren't cultivated for his benefit. The spy would welcome death to claim him than bear more sorrow…more guilt. The spy's next words left no room for misinterpretation.

"You said we were fighters, that we don't quit. Well, if you quit, I quit." Gripping tighter to the older man's shoulders under his hands, Tom shook the injured man. "You hear me, you quit, I quit. You die…".

Sawyer didn't need to finish his threat, it screamed through Allan's soul. '_I die_.' Managing to lift his hand, Allan wrapped it around the side of Tom's neck. Imploringly he choked out, "No", would have bellowed it at the lad had he the strength.

"Then don't quit," Tom brokenly responded, unwilling and unable to abandon his threat.

"Let's get the…. bloody hell out…. of here, Sawyer," Allan forced from his burning lungs, brutally silencing the belief that thrummed through him that he was going to die, that not leaving Tom wasn't his decision, had never been his decision. '_I'm not leaving the boy! The boy needs me, You hear! God, please don't make me leave him!_' he fervently prayed, knowing that to lose his own life would be to forfeit Tom's life, a life he cherished more than anything else.

With relief that nearly sent him into sobs, Tom, once again, latched tightly onto Quatermain and began the long trek back to where he had left Skinner. Prayers and pleadings ran constantly through his mind as they maneuvered the halls of the crumbling fortress. '_Help me to get Allan and Skinner out of here alive and keep them alive. Don't make them pay for caring about me with their lives, not like Huck paid. Make me pay, not them. Me. Let me pay my own debts for a change.'_

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Now with the arctic wind slicing into him like knives, Tom Sawyer knew the choice he had to make, the debt he had to pay. His debt wasn't to die, just as it hadn't been on the docks. His debt, his punishment was to watch those he loved slip away, knowing they had died not necessarily because of him but definitely in his place.

He had to let Allan go, had to release the man from the pact he had exacted from him in the fortress. The man's pain was too great, his grip on this life too brittle. Tom had seen this in the way Allan's body had shook as they carried him across the white expansion back to the Nautilus. In Allan's eyes, he had seen the strain upon the adventure's very soul as he grasped to life even as Tom's hand desperately clung to his.

Death was not the cruelest fate for Quatermain, life was. Life in agony, life when the comforting peace of eternity was so tauntingly close. '_Peace. It's what I wanted for Huck, what I fought for. And now, for Allan, I have to surrender the battle, I have to let him go so he can find it on his own.' _

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The conversation between Mina and Henry ceased as Tom Sawyer entered the medical area, the young man's visage a map of anguish as his eyes rested on the man that drew ragged breaths on the bed beside the two doctors. Henry came to Sawyer's side quietly, trying hard to gauge the young man's ability to handle the news he had to impart. He nearly startled as the low rough voice questioned, "He's in a lot of pain, isn't he?" but it was the dull eyes that came up to sear into his that jolted the doctor to the core.

Swallowing, Henry nodded before he found the strength to utter words. "Yes, he is. But I …I don't know how long he can last. Truthfully, I don't know what's kept him here this long."

"I do," Tom managed, his voice nearly breaking on the two words, as he forced his trembling legs to propel him to Allan Quatermain's deathbed. Numbly he sensed Mina watching him, hesitant and then draw back to give him the privacy he craved.

Now, standing beside the bed, looking down at the pale trembling form of Allan Quatermain, Tom found his heart hammering rapidly in his chest, his hands shaking and his resolve eroding. '_How do I let him go when I want him to stay, need him to stay! Can I choke out the lie and make him believe it! 'Sure, go on to greener pastures. Don't worry 'bout ole Tom Sawyer. You pegged me right, I'm a fighter…even if you're not.' No, scratch that bitter ending there. I have to sound hopeful and strong and ready to tackle the world, that's what he needs to hear in my words, needs to read in my eyes. Lord help me, I've never needed to be the best liar in the world more than I do right now.'_

When Allan's eyes flutter open, the tenderness in them nearly shattered Tom's tenuous reign over his emotions. Only the agony echoing from the dark depths of the hunter's eyes enabled the spy to stay upon the path he had resolved to tread. Claiming a chair beside Allan's bed as the hunter's eyes tracked him, Sawyer realized that Allan would have initiated the conversation if his every breath wasn't a labored gasp.

Tom's eyes flittered around the room for a moment until he forced them to rest upon the man who lay there, injured, dying because of him, because the hunter protected him instead of protecting himself. The brown eyes were veiled and Sawyer knew that the other man was trying to hide his pain. An impossible task, a burden too heavy for any man to bear, even the infamous Allan Quateramin. '_A burden he bears because of me, because he gives a damn about me. '_

'_Take a good look. That's how people who care about you end up. Hurting like Skinner, dying like Quateramin, dead like Huck.'_ Tom's first words weren't what he had intended but lately his intentions have been on a wayward path. "Thank you..for what you did back there," his voice rough, his self recriminations unspoken. Quatermain didn't need to hear them, he knew the spy's failings better than anyone, was dying because of his mistakes.

To Tom's surprise, Allan's hand reached out for him. And in that moment, in that last chance for a fatherly touch from the man he had in all intent purposes killed, he flinched away, skittered to his feet as if the touch would send his soul into the four corners of the wind. '_Whatever he's offering, I don't deserve it. Not his touch, not his compassion and sure as hell not his forgiveness.' _

Looking away from the hurt now in the older man's eyes that went much deeper than physical agony, Tom's breath came out almost as harshly as Allan's. '_Let him go! Let him go! If you care one damn speck for him, let him go now, release him from his agony!'_ Steeling himself, Tom drew himself up to stand stock still at the bedside and met Allan's eyes again. And then he said the words he had to, said them because it was the kindest thing he could do for Allan, said them because the truth was, he loved the old man, couldn't love him more if Allan was his father.

"I know you have to go," Tom began, his voice thick with emotions yet surprisingly steady. A watery version of his cocky smile was forced unto his face as he quoted Quatermain, "You can't protect me all the time." He faltered then, the words a bitter reminder of why Quatermain was indeed dying.

A protest sprang into Allan's eyes and again his weak hand sought to latch onto Tom. This time the spy permitted the touch, relished the cold hand's grip around his wrist. "Tom.." Allan rasped, needing to wipe the guilt from the lad's face, wanting to ease the pain the other bore on his soul for actions that were not his.

But Tom pressed forward, knowing that he was doing the right thing, though it nearly was too little, too late. '_But not too late, not yet_.' Unwrapping Allan's feeble grip from his wrist, he clasped the hand in his own. "What I asked of you…it wasn't fair. It was selfish and heartless." Allan's hand gripped tighter to Tom's as if in protest to the younger man's words. "You deserve to have your peace, Allan. I won't deny you that any longer. Go be with your son, be with Harry." Unknowingly tears slipped down Tom's face and dropped onto Allan's hand. "I'll keep fighting the good fight in your place. I won't quit.." he nearly choked on the words, wishing with every fiber that quitting was an option, that it could afford him some peace of his own. "And I will take better care of myself. After all, I have a legacy to carry on, right? The legacy of Allan bloody Quatermain and the league of the extraordinary gentlemen."

Tears welled in Allan's eyes and he used all the strength he possessed to pull on the hand that held his. Though the hunter had not the strength to achieve his intent, Sawyer knew unmistakably what Quatermain wanted. Leaning down, Tom enveloped Allan in a gentle hug. "Be at peace, Allan. I love you," Tom quietly murmured before abruptly pulling back from Quatermain and stealing from the room without a backward glance.

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Bright sunlight glittered off the water, heating the boards of the London dock where Tom Sawyer crouched, his fingers skimming over the patch of darkly stained wood where Huckleberry Finn had died in his arms. It had been more than a month since he had sat here, Huck in his arms, his life in tatters. It felt like forever. If felt like just a moment ago. "I miss ya Huck. Guess I always will."

Blinking back tears, Tom looked over the water. Bodies of water seemed to be the one constant in his life, always a silent spectator to his joys and his heartbreak. '_Just as it was for Huck_,' he realized and found that thought eased some of his grief. It was a fitting spot for Huck's last battle. It wasn't the Mississippi River but it still pulsing with the same life, inspiring some of the same sense of awe.

Focusing again upon the wood under his hand, Tom confessed, "I can't go back, Huck. Not to St. Petersburg…not to Washington…not to the agency. If you were here I know you'd wallop me and call me a quitter…" here he broke off as his voice cracked. He could almost hear Huck's outraged reply. When he spoke again, his voice trembled as he begged his friend for understanding, "If you've been sitting up there watchin'…you know why I can't go back. You're dead…he's dead…" his jaw clenched for a moment to restrain the onslaught of pain, "I don't want any more blood on my hands, Huck. I know we always bragged about how much good we were going to do, how the ladies would faint when we told them our heroic stories," a bittersweet smile turned up Tom's lips before fading away. "But I never figured being the hero would come to mean so little to me…or cost so much, too much." With a firmness in his tone, he continued, "I'm getting out of the hero business, Huck. I know that disappoints you..makes you feel like what you did…that dying for me was a terrible waste of your life. I never thought things would turn out like this…not for you, not for me.." his voice trailed off a little.

"What was it that the old geezer who ran the "Red Lady" steamboat used to say? '_Always do right. This will gratify some people, and astonish the rest.'_ Old fool forgot to tell me how useless it was doing right, how much it would steal away from me. I actually thought if I did right, that I would get some kinda reward…that if I was a good person the ones I loved would be protected, that if I saved the world from certain doom, nothing would touch me and mine. Guess I was still that naïve little boy you tried to toughen up all those years back. Well, that naïve boy's dead now, part of him died with you, and the rest died with Quatermain. Your job's done, Huck. The Fantom's dead, his base of operation went up in flames, the world isn't on the brink of war anymore. It's your victory Huck. You're the hero…you always were."

Swiping at the tears that he hardly knew had been streaming down his face, Tom stood up, his gaze taking in the sight of the river like it was something else he was saying goodbye to. Then, as his senses finally came back to the here and now, his muscles went taut. He was no longer alone on the dock.

From behind him came a thick British street accent that reminded him of Rodney Skinner…but Skinner's tone had never been so menacing. "You lead us on a merry chase, lad." Tom slowly turned around to see three burly men on the dock, their clothing rough and well used, their faces hard and worn. These men were from the streets where living and dying were the difference between a good day and a bad day. The man who spoke came toward Tom, his eyes hard and calculating. " 'Bout figured you turned tail and sailed back to your country…till I saw ya getting off that steamboat today." The man bared yellowed teeth into a smile, "That was rottin' luck for you," he pulled a knife from his waist band, "good luck for me. You're worth a lot of coin …dead."

With cold detachment, Tom knew these men were the assassins M had hired to kill him. Apparently M had not considered him enough of a threat to warrant a higher class of killers. It would have been insulting if he gave a damn. Instead he felt numb with bitter acceptance. Was it some sick coincidence that it was yet another knife being brandished in his face? Was it his fate to watch the people he loved die by the knife? Was it to be his fate to meet his end at the edge of a blade? Was this Injun Joe's last curse upon him? Anger surged through him, anger at Injun Joe, at fate, at the man who stood before him, thinking that he could scare him. '_You can't scare a dead man_,' Tom snarled internally before he bound forward, grasp the wrist of the man who held the knife and snapped the bone like it was kindling. A cry of agony tore from the man even as Sawyer deafly slipped the knife from the now slack grasp. Then Tom's fist plowed into the man's face with a right cross, sending him to the ground.

The two other men simultaneously charged him, the man on Sawyer's left banishing a billy club and the man on the right was preparing to plunge his knife into the spy's vulnerable flesh. Tossing the knife he had confiscated into the air, Tom caught it by the blade and sent it flipping through the air to sink into the foot of the man with the knife. "Let's not rush our fun boys. You might be dead before I've gotten a chance to enjoy myself," the secret service agent taunted, his smile maniacal and his eyes gleaming with danger.

As the man with the knife knelt down to pull the knife free from his foot, the other man rushed Sawyer, sweeping the club high, intending to knock the American's head from his shoulders.

Ducking the blow as if it was delivered in slow motion, the spy plowed a left hook into his attacker's gut and ruthlessly slammed the arm bearing the club down across his knee. With a spasm of pain the club fell from the man's hand. Without thought, Tom kicked the club backwards and heard the satisfying splash as it hit the water. Raising his fists in a fighter's stance, Tom challenged, "You won't be offended if we forget about the Marquess of Queensberry rules, will ya?"

With his stance mirroring the American's, the now unarmed man retorted, "Markie who?" leaving Sawyer wondering if the man was being funny or simply daft. When the man's right jab aimed toward his jaw, Tom decided it didn't matter.

Ducking and dodging to the right, Sawyer slipped the jab and delivered an uppercut, catching the man under the jaw, sending him stumbling backward, his stance a little wobbly when he halted a few paces back. He didn't have time to wonder what the man's next move would be as he sensed the attack from behind. Without turning around, the spy raised his elbow and slammed it into the face of the once knife bearing man who thought to join the fight already in progress.

"Ah..my nose," the man hollered and stepped back from the arena, clutching his now bleeding nose.

Having now recovered, the other man gave an outraged grunt and lobbed a right cross toward Sawyer's jaw. Though Tom dodged back he had not reacted quite soon enough and the blow glanced off his jaw, snapping his head. Instead of anger, sick pleasure gleamed in his eyes. It felt good, this pain, it was a pain he knew, a pain he could retaliate against, a pain that he could avenge, without worrying about morality, rules, and or bothersome regrets. Faking with a left hook, Sawyer instead unleashed a right cross that sent the man crashing to the docks.

"You aren't done are you?" he taunted the three men, one nearly unconscious on the ground, the other still holding his broken nose and the first man sat on the docks, his broken wrist gingerly cradled against his chest. It felt too good hitting flesh, visible flesh at that, flesh that didn't hide behind armor or a mask. He wanted more, needed more, wanted to inflict more pain, pain that rivaled his own.

"The coin warn't that good," mumbled the first man as he stumbled to his feet, roughly aided his nearly unconscious mate from the boards and began walking away. The man with the broken nose gave a measuring glare of hatred to the American.

"You ready to collect your coin?" Tom encouraged, a deadly smile on his boyish features.

But it was the look in the young man's eyes that had the other man shake his head and drop the knife he had retrieved from his foot. Lumbering to his feet, he walked away from the American. He wasn't interested in dying today.

Disappointment almost hummed through Sawyer as his opponents turned the corner, leaving him standing once again alone on the docks. Walking over to the discarded knife, he crouched down. With a motion almost quicker than the eye, he sent the knife sailing through the air. A grunt of pain was heard as the knife landed into the chest of a man who had stood behind some crates, watching the fight, his gun having tracked the American spy's every motion.

Standing, Tom approached the still standing but mortally injured man, his clothing worth more money than the last three assassins had ever seen in their lives. '_So when I seemed to have slipped away M decided to pay a little more to get a little more,_' Tom rationalized, having encountered this caliber of assassin before. The man's eyes were wide in shock, the gun limp in his weakening hand, his body consumed with agony as his prey came toward him like some jungle predator that knew no fear.

Grabbing the gun roughly from the assassin's numb hold, the spy viciously ripped his knife from the man's chest and watched the man sink to his knees. Crouching down to be eye level with the dying man, Sawyer spoke almost gently, "Hate to tell ya this but the man that hired ya is dead. He died about a month back. Don't you hate how slow the mail is these days?"

"You can't stop it," the man gasped with conviction, a dark smile on his dying face as his hands latched onto Tom's coat lapels.

"Stop what?" Tom asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

"The war. The Fantom put the wheels in motion and there's no stopping it now. The world we know will change forever, it has to. It always has to," the man gasped, his fingers slipping from Tom's coat as he crumbled to the ground and breathed his last.

Shaken by the man's words, Tom stood up and stumbled back from the dead man. Had all he had lost, all that he had sacrificed been for nothing? Was war still looming? Was change inevitable once the world had a taste of it?

"He might be right, ya know," came a voice behind him, a voice that Sawyer believed no longer belonged in the realm of the living.

Spinning around, his knife at the ready, Tom nearly dropped to his knees at the sight of the specter of Allan Quatermain. "It can't be…you're ….Jekyll said…you were too bad off…I let you go," he stammered, the knife slipping from his numb hand.

Love and anger mixed in the old hunter's eyes, "If you didn't go vanishing off into the wilds of Mongolia you would have been around to see me prove the good doctor wrong."

"Africa," Tom guessed, grasping for some reason that the man he had presumed dead now stood before him, his dark eyes looking like he had just geared up for the hunt of his life. "Africa wouldn't let you die."

"Don't be addle brained, Sawyer," Allan growled with affection, his eyes greedily taking in the sight of his adopted son, liking little of what he saw. The boy was gaunt and disheveled, and missing was the light that Allan had come to love seeing in the young man's eyes, snuffed out like it had never been. Approaching the spy like he would a cornered wounded animal, Allan gently continued, "It wasn't Africa that saved me…it was you."

Tom shook his head, swallowing hard at the miracle before him. "No…I ..I let you go, gave you your chance for peace."

"I found peace," Allan softly said, now standing directly before Sawyer, his eyes tenderly meeting the young man's. "I found it here," he repeated, putting his hand against Tom's heart. Seeing the tremulous look in Tom's eyes, Allan sallied "For a smart boy you can be so daft sometimes," before he slipped his hand behind Tom's neck and pulled the young man into his arms for a hug. "I love you, son."

Immediately Tom flung his arms around the older man. "I thought you were dead," he breathed, the words catching in his throat.

"If it wasn't for you, I would be. You know it's bloody rude to pull someone from the brink of death and then bugger out on them," he joked.

A watery laugh broke from Tom and with a tight squeeze he stepped back from Allan. "Is that what I did, I buggered out on you?" his voice trying for lightheartedness even as it threatened to shatter. "We'd say I turned tail and ran."

"Call it whatever you want, just don't do it ever again. You hear me," Allan threatened, his love for the American shining in his eyes.

Like a scolded boy, Tom blushed, before swearing, "I hear you and I won't run out on you again."

"Good. Now that that's all cleared up," Allan began, coming to stand beside the American, he put his hand around Sawyer's arm and began steering the spy off the docks. "Son, would you like to learn how to fight?"

Laughter erupted from Tom and joy pushed away the darkness that had nearly consumed him. "I can already," he cockily replied like he did back on the Nautilus's conning tower seemingly a lifetime ago.

Barely holding back his own laughter, Allan choked out his lines, "Oh I saw…very American."

With his full blown smile beaming on his face, Sawyer boasted, "Don't worry…I can teach you all my tricks?"

"You teach me?" Allan groused, the gleam of happiness in his eyes unmasked.

"Yeah," with a pitying look, Sawyer clarified, "I saw you at Dorian.." here he shook his head in sad horror, "very British, throwing all those punches..hoping to hit your target."

A mocking warning was in Quatermain's eyes, which only made Sawyer's smile broader as he gave the first pointer, "Now first you gotta balance out your weight on your stance."

"That's easy," Allan boasted, loving the interaction even as he groused at it.

"Here's the part that's not," Tom continued, trying to let a reprimand enter his voice for the older man's unappreciated attitude.

"Let me guess, feeling the punch," Allan hazarded.

But his reply earned him a snort from Sawyer. "No wonder we whipped you guys. No, the most important thing is to forget about the rules. There are no rules in a brawl."

"A gentlemen…..." Allan began to protest.

A smug smile turned up Sawyer's lips, "A gentleman wouldn't brawl. Ever."

Without an ounce of regret, Allan confessed with a unruly smile, "Guess I'm no gentleman."

As they stepped off the dock into the street, Tom continued his lesson, "Now that that's all cleared up, there's a lot I can teach you. After all, a war might still be heading our way, you should be better prepared."

"Better prepared!" the famous hunter Allan Quatermain scoffed, ruffling Sawyer's blond locks. "I was out saving the world before you were born, laddie."

"No wonder it's in the state it is," Tom shot back, laughing at the mock outrage in Allan's eyes.

For a few paces they walked in silent companionship before Allan softly said, "Huck would be very proud of you, Tom. I know I am," his eyes tenderly watching the young man at his side who had bore the worst of the hurt M had caused.

"Yeah, I think he would be too," Tom honestly replied before smiling up at Allan. "But he'd tan my hide for that stunt in Venice…course he never did appreciate the thrill of going fast."

"Going fast is fine…it's the leaping over a river, crashing into the building I object to. We're going to have a serious talk about your reckless ways," Allan threatened, love shining in his eyes as he pulled Sawyer out of the way of a hackney that was about to run him over.

"How serious?" Tom smirked, having knowingly turned a blind eye to the horse and carriage that he had every intention of sidestepping…at the last instant of course.

"Very serious, my lad, very serious," Allan promised, steering the spy toward a coach, wondering how he had ever been blessed to get a second chance to be a father to such a wonderful man like Sawyer.

Being led like a naughty child, Sawyer felt no resentment spring up in him but instead a deep sense of being loved washed over him as Allan's words of a few minutes prior came back to him. '_I love you, son_.' Tears pricked Tom's eyes but for the first time in years, it was tears of happiness. Shooting a glance back to the docks, Tom silently bade, '_Be at peace, Huck. I am,_' before he climbed into the coach followed by Allan.

"Now, how about you tell me where you've been. You look terrible! And I don't want the fairy tale version," Allan warned, as the driver urged the horse into motion.

"You know, someone once told me that truth is the most valuable thing we have and we should economize it.." Tom replied with a cocky smile, anxiously anticipating the older man's reply even as he was thanking the Good Lord that he found himself once again at the man's side. With Allan Quatermain guarding his back, Tom found that he was more than willing to take up the mantle of hero again. The world always needed heroes…and with a league of heroes…woe to the evil that dared bare their teeth to them.

The End.

quotes from Mark Twain

Author's Notes: I almost hated to see it end! You all have been so wonderful and supportive! It's amazing how each review had me smiling and helped to shape this story. So I offer a great big thank you to all my reviewers! If you drop me a signed review, I'll try and respond back to you via email. And I also want to say I appreciate all those silent readers out there! (I'm more a silent reader than a reviewer myself)

Have a wonderful new year!

Cheryl W.

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